


Red on Red

by LadySilviana



Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3623223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilviana/pseuds/LadySilviana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an alternate-pre-war- of -the- lance Krynn story. The main character is an elven red robed mage named Silviana. The action takes place immediately after the events in Brothers in Arms, wherein Caramon and Raistlin become mercenaries in the army of the Baron of Langtree. Par-Salian, after receiving Raistlin's letter about Immolatus, decides to send his apprentice, Silviana, to act as a sort of healer to Raistlin and an inadvertent spy. Sexual tension results. Mostly slow burn with lots of action/adventure and fighting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The first few lines of the prologue are direct excerpts from the epilogue of Brothers in Arms. In this version, Antimodes delivers Raistlin's letter to Par-Salian himself, instead of having it forwarded. Also, in the original Krynn, elven red-robes are also considered dark elves and are exiled, but this is not the case in my story, where they are just looked down upon, but not exiled like the black robes.

“Immolatus,” said Par- Salian and he sighed and shuddered. “So it has started. Thus we begin the long journey into darkness.”

He looked back at the letter written in that quick, nervous, bold, and hungry hand, signed at the bottom.

Raistlin Majere, Magus.

Par-Salian picked up the letter. Speaking a word of magic, he caused it to be consumed by fire.

“At least,” he said, “we do not walk alone.”

Having disposed of the missive he rang a bell that summoned an apprentice and asked for Antimodes to be called back into his presence. The other white-robe was quick to arrive, having been lurking in adjoining rooms waiting for a chance to inquire about his protege's letter.

“What are the odds of you telling me what that young man has written?” Antimodes grinned in what he hoped was an endearing fashion.

Par- Salian gave him his own wry smile.

“Not a chance,” he said and added, “I will however impart to you what I intend to do now.”

“Oh?” Antimodes raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that Par-Salian telling him his intentions was paramount to Par-Salian telling him absolutely nothing. Only more questions will arise.

“You, friend will pay a visit to Majere in Langtree,” Par-Salian was taping his fingers distractedly on his desk. “That way I can put you to use to see what rumors are floating around that barony. I would like more perspectives on this battle at Hope's End.”

“And what else?”

“You will take someone with you. I will give her a letter of recommendation to Horkin. And a letter of recommendation to Majere. I think she will need the latter most. By my orders she shall be attached to him for some time.”

Antimodes frowned deeply.

“Why is this necessary? Seems to me it will serve only to aggravate the young mage. He will surely think that you intend to spy on him.”

“Not spy,” Par- Salian retorted. “Simply keep at eye on his progress and perchance do something to ease his physical maladies. I know nothing can be done permanently for what ails him. But I have enough faith in this pupil's healing abilities to believe she may be at least of temporary assistance.”

“One of your apprentices then?” Antimodes disapproved visibly, shaking his head. “All the more reason he should be suspicious.”

“I think not,” Par- Salian mused thoughtfully, “Silviana is ... special, Solinari bless her. Oh, intelligent certainly. Simply oblivious in such an innocent way that it would be impossible to suspect anything of her. A fact which I hope to use to our advantage.”

Your advantage you mean, Antimodes thought bitterly, still thinking this a foolish mission. There were other, more secretive ways of keeping an eye on a mage, as Antimodes himself well knew.

“I would like to meet this... oblivious lady,” he said giving up all hope that his friend would reconsider.

“Oh you will, friend,” Par- Salian reached for a summoning bell once more.


	2. The Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Par-Salian gives his apprentice an assignment.

The sun set over the Tower of High Sorcery in the forest of Wayreth. Not that there were many that could see the awe inspiring site of the hidden structure. The mages inside were rather preoccupied with their own business. Silviana of House Mystic of the Qualinesti may have been the only one enjoying the view of the sun rays spilling over the battlements from her high vantage point in Par-Salian's personal study. That was due in part to her elven nature and thus her love of the sun and all things beautiful. Yet, it was also due to her general absent mindedness. 

Realizing of course that his pupil had not been attentive as usual, Par- Salian sighed in exasperation and threw up his hands. This startled Silviana out of her reverie and she looked over at her teacher and then down at her feet, feeling embarrassed. Silviana often felt embarrassed, being known amongst her elven kin as unnaturally clumsy for an elf. To any human, she would be far beyond the standard of loveliness. In her native land however, Silviana was considered rather plain and even slightly ugly due to the rather more heavy set shape of her legs and hips, the overall unruliness of her long brown hair and the fullness of her lips- all considered inferior traits by the elves. A runt of the litter in a big family, always teased, albeit lovingly, for her lacking qualities, the young elf-woman had no reason to wish to go back to Qualinesti after her Test, well over a year ago. Her choice of robes also did not help the situation. 

Silviana, contrary to choosing the white robes worn by all in the House Mystic, had chosen the red of Lunitari. Of course, this was not considered a criminal act, as in the instance of choosing the black. However, it was deemed more than a little questionable and Silviana's family let her know through flowery phrased letters that although they would undeniably welcome her back should she visit and there was no question of exile, perhaps it would be best if the girl made her own way in the world. Preferably away from elven society. 

Silviana did not get upset at this, she knew the way of the elves. Yet that left her in a predicament. For the first time in her 92 years, she did not know what to do with herself. As luck would have it, Par-Salian, head of the mages of Ansalon was endeared to the awkward elf-woman and offered for her to stay as one of his apprentices. Silviana took him up on the offer with joy. However, Par-Salian was soon questioning his choice. Unlike her studious master, Silviana loved to be outdoors and working with her hands. Although she enjoyed studies and research, her master often found her day dreaming over her books, much as she had just been day dreaming whilst looking out the window. Although she was an adequate mage, the only magic that appealed to her strongly was the art of healing. Silviana was an exceptional healer, the kind which had not been seen in the Tower for quite some time. Prior to the Cataclysm, there was little need for mages to practice the healing arts, that being mostly the domain of the clerics. After clerical healing had disappeared from the world, the mages did what they could but found the art strangely illusive. All except for the elves, who created new magics of their own and were rather successful at the enterprise. However, the elves were loathe to share the secrets of their healing magics with the rest of the mages. Silviana was the first of her kind to openly practice her arts outside the borders of her homeland. 

This, in fact, was why she had been summoned to Par-Salian's personal study this evening. 

“Have you heard a word I have said girl?” The old white-robe said testily, but with obvious fondness.

Silviana flushed.

“You think it is time I leave the tower.” She replied timidly.

“Indeed I do. I see the way you look out doors dear, there is a world out there to be discovered.” Par-Salian came to stand by her chair and rested a gnarled hand on the elf-woman's shoulder. Silviana raised her almond shaped eyes, which were the color of wilting grass, up to meet his. “And I fear that there is nothing more you can learn from me that would aide you in your personal aspirations.”

“In other words you no longer need me,” Silviana said but without bitterness. 

That caused Antimodes to cough politely, drawing attention to himself.

“As a matter of fact, Lady Silviana,” The other white-robe stated with a slight wink, fond of women as always, “we need you very much.”

Silviana perked up at this and looked with interest from Par-Salian to Antimodes.

“There is someone who we believe would benefit significantly from your healing arts. He is a a young war-mage, also a red-robe like yourself.” Par-Salian looked intently at Silviana. “The Test left him in... quite a bad physical state and we have considered that perhaps with a healer of your skill to tend him for some time he might take a turn for the better.”

Silviana jumped up excitedly and indignantly hugged the older wizard. The elf-woman's other downfall in the eyes of her kin was her inability to act with restraint. Silviana was naturally energetic which made her fidgety, nervous and excitable. No amount of good elven schooling could beat that incessant characteristic out of her. This was another reason Silviana often felt embarrassed, her own impulsiveness being her private shame.  
“Oh, thank you! An assignment from the Conclave all on my own!” Her arms tightened around her master. Then realizing what she had done, the elf-woman jumped back and lowered her eyes once more, mumbling apologies and twitching nervously from excitement. 

Par-Salian chuckled at her reaction, then grew serious.

“This is not as simple an assignment as it may seem,” he said firmly. “This young man can be rather... difficult from what I hear. It is likely that he will not want your help. It will be up to you to convince him of your worth. At the same time he should provide a challenge for you. What ails him is not easily remedied. It is my hope that this assignation will increase your abilities considerably, as you need a challenge to test your skills.”

Silviana nodded veraciously, understanding only that she had been given an important task by the head of the Conclave. That she was after all, worthy of notice.

“Where... where do I find this young mage?”  
“Antimodes here,” Par-Salian pointed to his friend, “will take you to him. You leave in the morning, so you may want to start packing after your dinner.”

With a joyous exclamation of, “I will not fail you, Shalafi!” Silviana was out the door.

Par-Salian and Antimodes observed each other in the now fallen twilight.

“You are right friend, I do not think I have met anyone so oblivious in my life.” Antimodes spoke at last. “She seems to have the attention span and energy of a kender. I do not know how she ever got along in Qualinesti. And the red-robes? Certainly a peculiar choice for an elf.”

“Indeed. Her Test was... Interesting to say the least. Never have I seen one so fitted to the red-robes. Raistlin may be favored by Lunitari, yet I think the goddess chooses this girl to be her embodiment.”

“Well, that goddess is known for her sense of humor,” Antimodes smirked. “Nevertheless, why give her false hope that she can do anything for Majere? You know as well as I do nothing will heal him.”

“I do not want to resign her to failure. Silviana is quick to get discouraged. I need her to be optimistic otherwise she will never go.”

Antimodes mulled this over carefully.

“I think, friend, that you feel worse about how that Test went then you let on. You feel sorry for the young man and what he must face in the future. You know that there is no hope of healing him, yet you send your best healer-mage to tend him, hoping perhaps that something may yet be done.”

Par-Salian did not answer but continued to look out the window and Antimodes knew that he had been right.


	3. An Easy Road. Of Daisies and Lilies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antimodes and Silviana travel to Langtree. Horkin has some doubts.

Traveling through Ansalon was easy at the end of the summer. The roads were dry like the weather, the rains holding off for another couple of weeks, waiting for the advent of autumn. Antimodes made good time on his little pony, the elf-woman Silviana keeping a slow pace on her dapple mare at his side. The white-robe did not normally like traveling in company, finding that it impeded his mingling with the local crowd, distracting him from paying close attention to the circulating rumors. Regardless of the fact, Antimodes found that Silviana's company was relaxing and comforting in a way that a mug of hot cider was comforting on a midwinter's night. She had none of the haughty aloofness of her kind, none of the incessant pride that made the elves look at all other races as inferior. Silviana looked upon the world with awe and curiosity, wanting to touch and explore that which was different. Yes, Antimodes thought to himself, very unlike her kind.

Another one of her inherent qualities was that, inadvertently, people found themselves telling her the innermost troubles of their hearts. One did not feel judged in her company, she asked questions like a mother would ask questions, calmly not demanding, making observations based on the things one did not mention that were uncannily accurate. After several weeks of travel, Antimodes found that there was an inner peace in his soul that was not present there before. All his suspicions about what Par-Salian had planned, all his worries about the fate of Ansalon and the role that his young protegee would have to play, were eased. They were there still, but being with Silviana made him realize that the ravages of fate could not be avoided, that he should be contented with what he was doing. After all, there was not much more for him to do.

The white robe began to think that there might be something to Par-Salian's idea. In truth, there was little Silviana could do to heal Raistlin physically, even with her considerable skill, a fact that Antimodes did not have the heart to tell her. But perhaps she could do something to ease his mind, to become a friend. That after all was its own kind of healing. The only thing that worried Antimodes considerably was that Silviana, oblivious of the world as she was, would be thrown into the crude world of mercenary soldiers. He hoped for her sake, that the woman would be able to take care of herself.

And so, as the last days of the summer were drawing to a close, Antimodes brought Silviana to the castle of Ivor of Langtree.

 

***

Horkin was sitting back in his laboratory, carefully going about the business of pouring maple syrup into portable vials. He was glad the season was finally over and was looking forward to taking a trip to his hometown to visit his old acquaintances and indulge in his guilty pleasure of ice-fishing once winter set in. Tomorrow, the stationary troops would be dismissed until the spring training time came again. The soldiers would be going home. All that is, besides the Majere brothers and their ever present friend Scrounger. The baron had extra work for them and the young men were more than willing to oblige Ivor in exchange for shelter at the castle until spring time. None of them expressed a specific desire to go back to their home towns. Experience, Raistlin had said, was more important to him, and Caramon willingly agreed with the statement.  
Red had already proved his usefulness over the several campaigns of the season, but Horkin did not bother telling the mage that he should take a break. The young, after all, wanted action. They were restless. So let the baron make use of them while he could. Ivor's distaste for Raistlin had dissipated considerably since the incident at Hope's End, aided by the secret supposition that the young mage had defeated the enemy wizard, Immolatus, a fact that Raistlin never admitted too, but that everyone suspected he had done anyway.

Caught up in his own musings, Horkin did not notice the knocking on the door for a while. Taking the liberty upon himself, a young soldier promptly opened the door and poked his head inside the laboratory. The man cleared his throat and Horking started, nearly spilling the syrup.

“What don't you know how to knock?” He barked then cut the man off before he could answer, “no, never mind, just tell me what you want.”

“Begging your pardon, Master Horkin,” the man began, “there are two mages here to see you. A white- robe named Antimodes and a red-robe whose name I did not get. Say they are from the tower.”

“Of course they are from the tower!” Horkin growled, displeased by the prospect of entertaining some haughty tower mages. At the same time his impressions of Antimodes were generally positive and so he quickly relaxed. “Well bring them in, don't just stand there.”

The man did as he was told and Horkin quickly packed away the syrup. It's not as though he cared what the higher orders thought of him, but being caught with maple syrup was slightly embarrassing.

The soldier returned quickly, followed by the two mages. Horkin's gaze swept quickly over the white-robe. Nothing new there. However it was hard to conceal his surprise at the sight of the red-robe. A red-robed elf. Now there was something new.

“Master Horkin,” Antimodes said with a gracious incline of the head. “It is good to see you again. May I present to you Lady Silviana of Qualinesti.”

Horkin was taken aback by the woman's warm smile and her pleasant greeting. This was not a typical elf, that was certain.

“Yes, please, guests be seated.” The two mages sat down in the worn wooden chairs on the opposite side of the table from Horkin. Ensured that the guests were as comfortable as the meager accommodations allowed, Horkin continued. “How may I be of service to the tower?”

“Straight to the point as always, Master Horkin.” Antimodes smiled appreciatively. “The business at hand is simple. I was to bring the Lady Silviana to make your acquaintance and have her remain here in the capacity of a healer.”

Horkin suddenly felt uncomfortable.

“If you are looking to enroll with the army, I am afraid you are several months too late and several more too early,” he looked from the white-robe to the red-robed elf soberly, “besides, sweetheart, no offense but I don't take on women.”

Silviana's smile wavered.  
“Well, it isn't exactly the army that I have been assigned too,” the woman said, “although I was told to implement my skills as healer for the benefit of Langtree's army as well.”

“Healer eh?” Horkin stared her down, “let me tell you something, sweetheart. You healers are a dime a dozen and we've already got several. Heck, Red- my assistant- is a damn good healer as is. Why should we spend money on just another healer?”

Antimodes looked at Silviana with slight anxiety, eager to see how the young elf would handle this questioning. The change he saw in her usually cheerful face was astounding. Her eyes, usually distant and distracted, were at once sharp and penetrating and her expression hardened into one of haughty pride. For the first time since he has met her, Antimodes could say she looked genuinely and frighteningly elven.

“I see you have the daisy oinment,” Silviana pointed to several jars lining the wall behind Horkin.

“Yes, it is a typical ointment to disinfect wounds, as you would know.” Horking shot back.

“Indeed,” Silviana stared back at him defiantly, “and did you know that adding juice from a pond lily to this ointment acts to relieve swelling in addition to disinfecting the wound? And that further adding poppy syrum to the mixture numbs pain?”

Horkin admitted that he did not.

“Did you know that drinking pulverized mandrake root dissolved in water staunches minor internal bleeding?”

Once more Horkin was forced to concede that he was not aware of this fact.

“Further, did you know that this same mandrake root relieves congestion caused by pneumonia when one inhales it with steam?”

“Alright, alright!” Horkin was impressed in spite of himself. “You have made your point. That doesn't change the fact that the army is disbanded until spring time. Can't just have you sitting around the castle with nothing to do. Your elven sensibilities would get the better of you and you'll run off for the forests.”

Silviana flushed feeling embarrassed.

“Again, although I am to provide services to the army, my main priority is something-or I should say someone, else.” Silviana handed Horkin a missive bearing Par-Salinan's seal.

The brown-robe took it, feeling indignantly curious and read the short message. He then read it again and looked questioningly at Antimodes.

“Is this a joke?” He said finally.

“I am sorry to say, Par-Salian is not known for his sense of humor.”

Horkin cleared his throat and re-read the letter once more, this time out loud.

_“Master Horkin of Langtree Barony. I hereby introduce to you Lady Silviana of Qualinesi, my own apprentice and a qualified healer. I bid you make use of her skills for the benefit of baron Ivor's army, as I assure you she will not be a disappointment. I further disclose to you that Silviana's primary objective, as given her by me, is to employ her healing arts for the benefit of your assistant,Raistlin Majere. I am interested to see if a healer of Silviana's ability would be able to investigate the source of the young man's malady. She is to make regular reports on her progress to me at the Tower._

_Signed, Par-Salian_  
 _Head of the Wizard's Conclave_  
 _Tower of High Sorcery, Wayreth_.”

Horkin finished and raised a non-existent eyebrow inquisitively, directing his astonished gaze at both mages.

“I am not sure how Red is going to take this,” Horkin said earnestly. “He is a bit touchy... regarding his condition. Nevertheless, I suppose you can try girl.”

“What... exactly ails him?” Silviana asked. “I have not gotten any information regarding this malady. Everyone,” she shot a somewhat accusing glance at Antimodes, “is rather evasive on this matter. I haven't even been able to prepare any herbal remedies.”

“Well uh, I do not think there is anything you could have done without meeting him first,” Horkin said sagely. “Speaking of which, girl, ask Mart outside to take you to the mess hall and make your acquaintance while I have a further chat with Antimodes here.”

Silviana nodded several times in rapid succession and bounced out of her chair, heading for the door. Before turning the handle she glanced over her shoulder and asked.

“How will I know him?”

“Oh trust me,” Horkin snorted, “you just will.”

Horkin waited until the door snapped shut behind the elf and her footsteps receded down the hall before saying what he had to say.

“Look here, I will play along with Par-Salian because I have too,” Horkin stated matter-of factly. “But you and I both know there is nothing to be done for Majere. I don't know much about what happened, only that this is the result of his Test. Which means permanent.”

Antimodes sighed heavily.

“I do know this, friend,” the white-robe spoke truly.

“Then what in the name of the Abyss is the point of all this? She seems like a sweet girl. Odd thing to say for an elf, but it's the truth. I can't deny she put me in my place for questioning her healing abilities and I will be happy to get her assistance once campaign season starts up again. But why set her up for disappointment? I am fond of the young man in my own way, but he is no present. Not only will she find that she cannot do anything for him, but she will have to well.. deal with him.”  
Antimodes could only shrug, having thought the same things himself many times over the past few weeks.


	4. Uneasy Acquaintances and Resolutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silviana meets Raistlin and has to prove a point.

Chapter 2  
Uneasy Acquaintances and Resolutions.

Mart dropped Silviana off at the entrance to the mess hall and looked at her imploringly, waiting to be relieved of his duty as escort and to go inside to his dinner. Silviana hesitated and looked inside the big room seeing a couple hundred men sitting around, eating heartily and laughing loud. She felt her face begin to heat up at the prospect of entering the room and grew suddenly fidgety.

“Ummm... I am looking for uh, Majere?” Silviana worked hard to pronounce the name, uncertain of herself. “Do you know which one he is?”

Mart smirked at her knowingly and pointed a finger at a man who was undoubtedly the biggest in the room.

“That one there is the guy you wanna see.”

Having done his due, the soldier slipped inside the hall and hurried to join his companions.

Silviana studied the big warrior from where she stood, as of yet unobserved by the soldiers, in the shade of the door frame. Certainly, this man did not look in need of any healing. Nor did he look much like a magic-user. Still, neither did Horkin, so looks were likely deceiving. Anyhow, Par-Salian told her to come and that was that. Making up her mind, Silviana pulled the hood of her cloak further over her face to hide the embarrassed flush of her cheeks and strode into the mess hall.

She felt more than saw the interested gazes immediately directed her way but ignored them, gliding with purpose towards the big man who was still oblivious to her presence. He continued to stuff his face violently whilst attempting to recite some tale to an interested looking young man with carrot-orange hair.

“So then they had me stand in the middle of the forest at night time with this bag,” Caramon was saying, his mouth full of pig roast, “calling 'come here for a treat snipe!' over and over until finally I saw it!”

“And did you get the snipe?” The Scrounger's eyes were wide with excitement.

“I got something that's for sure!” Caramon finished delightedly. “But it wasn't a snipe! You see, they all tricked me! There was no snipe! What I got in my bag at the end of the night was a kender!”

Everyone at the table laughed indulgently, none louder then the big warrior himself.

Silviana politely waited for the laughter to subside before clearing her throat. The big man started and looked over at the elf-woman. At once Caramon was on his feet taking a formal bow, knowing somehow he was in the presence of a high ranking lady and not a barmaid.

“No, no I beg of you don't ...do that!” Silviana protested and Caramon rose up from his bow. “I assure you I am nothing to make a big deal of.”

Her voice however, stated otherwise, the slight drawl and lisp of Qualinesti elvish richly accenting her Common. This immediately caught the attention of the red head, who, Silviana thought in alarm, resembled a kender frightfully.

“Say, you are an elven lady aren't you?” the half-kender asked gleefully. “Oh, I have never seen an elven lady before! I wonder what brings you here!”

“Well um, in fact, I am looking for someone,” Silviana spoke quickly, wanting to be out of this mess hall as soon as possible, now that she found herself the center of attention, everyone having gone completely quiet to listen in on their conversation.

“Perhaps we can help you, lady...?” Caramon looked at her waiting for her to fill him in as to her name.

The elf woman hesitated at first but then decided it was best to introduce herself.

“Lady Silviana of Qualinesti,” She took a slight bow of her own and pulled back her hood to reveal her face to the men at the tables.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the collective gathering. Scrounger wasn't the only one in that hall who has never seen an elven lady before and the sight was quite astounding to the assembled humans. Drawing courage from their awed silence, Silviana straightened her back proudly and continued her inquiry.

“The one I look for goes by the name Majere. Raistlin Majere.” All at once the hum of voices rose all around, distilling the awe-filled silence of only a moment ago. Silviana felt herself go red again.

“Raist?!” The big man said in shock. “Why, of course I can help you find him. I am his brother, Caramon. Raistlin is my twin in fact!” Caramon puffed out his chest in pride at the association. “Raistlin was just here somewhere, he has this way of blending into the shadows.” Caramon turned his head this way and that, shaking out his curly brown hair in the process.

“RAIST! RAISTLIN!”He hollered at the top of his lungs.

“No need to shout, my brother, I am here,” came a soft, whispering voice from somewhere behind Silviana, making her start and jump around to face the source.

The mage in fact had been there all along, blending into the shadows, as Caramon had said. He had noted Silviana linger in the door way and observed her as she made her way into the mess hall. He watched with barely concealed awe as she shed her hood and bared her face to the crowd. An elven face in the bloom of youth, not ravaged by the passage of time captured in Raistlin' golden eyes. He beheld her now, flustered and nervous looking at him.

Whatever Silviana was prepared for, Raistlin wasn't it. Par-Salian an Antimodes had kept her conveniently in the dark regarding Raistlin's malady or appearance. As such, she was dumbstruck by the slender mage, whose golden-tinged skin and white hair were unlike any she had ever seen. What's more, she felt the whirls of magic emanating from his thin body and found herself basking in its warmth as she would bask in the rays of the sun. She felt no aversion to his appearance, only shock and a deep curiosity.

Raistlin himself was caught of guard and cursed himself for not noticing the obvious from his first glimpse of Silviana. Although the elf-woman was not dressed in robes but in travel attire her strong magical aura was easily detectable to Raistlin. As was the red badge she wore on her breast and which signified her alliance.

“You are a mage?” His eyes bore into her, not needing the answer, knowing it already. “A red-robe, at that. Unusual for an elf, is that not? Or do I not know enough about the customs of the elves?”

Silviana recovered from her initial shock of meeting Raistlin and composed herself to answer his question. She recalled Par-Salian hinting that this man would be difficult and resolved to not shirk from his interrogation.

“I am a follower of Lunitari like yourself,” She inclined her head in what she hoped was a graceful movement, “and you are correct in saying that this is uncommon among my kind. The elves as a rule fallow Solinari, but I found the red goddess spoke stronger to my heart.”

Raistlin nodded thoughtfully but seemed pleased with her response. Silviana allowed herself to relax, feeling as though she has secured at least one victory.

The mage's slender fingers shifted their hold on a staff he held as he observed her, ponderously stroking the wood.

“And you come to seek me? Not of your own accord I gather,” he squinted at her. “From the Tower then?”

“Yes, I was sent by Par-Salian to...”she suddenly remembered to proceed with caution, Horkin's words about Raistlin's “touchiness” about his condition coming to mind. “Well, perhaps we can speak in private as to why I was sent?” She finished lamely and at once knew she had said the wrong thing. The men in the hall, all listening intently, howled in laughter. Silviana looked around her incredulously, not knowing what she had said wrong.

“Be careful Lady Silviana,” Raistlin's eyes flickered in amusement, “you are in a place of crude individuals. I am afraid you have given them the wrong impression – an impression you surely don't want to give in relation to myself.”

Silviana was quick to notice a note of self-deprecation enter that whispering voice but thought she would file that away to ponder for later.

“Anyhow, I do think that Tower business amongst mages should be discussed away from the unenlightened. Follow me.” And with that his back was to her, as he walked away back towards the entrance to the hall. Silviana rushed after him, eager to be out of this crowded place, feeling as though whatever ground she had gained with her opening statement she had subsequently lost. I am always making a fool of myself, she thought bitterly as she followed the red-robed mage out into the hall.

“Raist?” Caramon's voice came bellowing after them from the hall, “should I come with you?”

“I think your brother is calling you...” Silviana tried to be helpful.

“Yes, I am aware of that fact, but I would rather him think that I am not.”  
“Oh...”

Together they mounted the stairs leading to the mage's sleeping quarters. The climb wasn't a long one, but Silviana already heard a strain to her companions breathing and began to suspect he had some sort of respiratory condition. That should be an easier task then expected, Silviana thought to herself and was almost disappointed. Then they reached the landing and he began to cough, shuddering all the while leaning heavily upon the strange staff. The spasm was a bad one, straining every muscle in his body and the elf-woman was not shocked to see blood on the mage's lips when it passed. Gathering his bearing after the fit, Raistlin took a ragged breath, and drawing a handkerchief from the folds of his robe mopped up the blood.

Silviana did not know to say, she certainly has not seen anything this bad before. Raistlin, feeling her uneasiness shot her a hard glance.

“Do not worry, it is not contagious,” he whispered quietly, bitterly.

“No I can tell it isn't,” She told him calmly, feeling a tingle of excitement now that her charge appeared to be more of a challenge after all.

Raistlin just stared at her and shrugged before proceeding to a door on their left and unlocking it. They entered the quarters that Raistlin shared with Horkin. The room was a small but neat one, with two tidily made up beds and a table with some chairs. A single window graced the back wall and Silviana made her way too it, opening it up to let in fresh air.

“I am letting in fresh air, it should help soothe your breathing. The mildew in this old castle is hardly good for your lungs.” Silviana took on her instructive voice, the one she used often with novice mages. It was firm and warranted no objections. Looking over, she saw Raistlin looking at her intently and blushed thinking perhaps she had overstepped a boundary. The silence beginning to lengthen uncomfortably, Silviana decided she would go along with what she was already doing.

“Lie down on your bed. I will heat up some water for a special brew I have concocted. It helps relieve the spasms brought on by severe coughing fits.”

Raistlin was so shocked at being so persuasively bossed around by a complete stranger that he inadvertently took a seat on his bed and leaned back against the head board. He was nevertheless annoyed.

“I already have a brew that helps with the spasms,” he pointed to a pouch sitting on the table, “It's rhubarb, lemongrass -”

“...with nightshade blossoms?” She finished off for him.

“Yes,” Raistlin stared at her with some respect.

“Hmmm... was it Par-Salian per chance who gave you the recipe?”

“It was,” Raistlin was confused all of a sudden, which made him all the more annoyed.

“Ahh, well that explains everything,” Silviana nodded to herself as she discovered a water pitcher and poured the liquid into a mug. Taking a few of the dried ingredients from the pouch she threw them into the mug, which she then held between her hands and whispered a word of magic to heat up the water. In moments the water began to steam. “Damn, I always overheat it! Anyway, just wait a minute or two for it to cool down.”

Raistlin had had quite enough.

“Alright, my lady Silviana,” he said sternly, “what is it exactly that makes sense to you now? I have to admit very little of what your presence entails makes any sense to me.”

Silviana was taken aback, but was not unprepared for this.

“You see, Raistlin.. I may call you by your first name? Master Majere seems so informal when we are about to spend some time together.” He just blinked at her, looking agitated. “Anyhow, I am -well was- Par-Salian's apprentice. The brew you have been drinking... that is my own special recipe. It was over a year ago that Par-Salian came to me and asked me for it, saying that there was someone who could use it.” She handed over the steaming mug to the mage, who accepted it ungraciously. “I assume that someone was you.”

Raistlin took a sip of his tea as a realization began to dawn on him. He looked at Silviana through squinted golden eyes.

“And now you are here. Why?”

“To help you. Or to make a study of you if you prefer that explanation.” Somehow, she thought that he did. Whereas he would scorn the idea of being taken care of in any way, he could at the very least respect another's ambition for improving magical skills.

Raistlin didn't say anything for some time and noted that his silence put the elf-woman on edge. She seemed quite well in control of herself from the get go but she dissolved easily, fidgeting nervously when tensions arose. Raistlin did nothing to try and ease her mind.

“I have a letter for you from Par-Salian, explaining the matter if you would like to look.” She fumbled with a scroll case on her hip and handed him a missive, which he took without a word and opened.

_Raistlin Majere,_

_I beg you make acquaintance with the lady Silviana whom I have the pleasure of introducing as my own apprentice. Silviana is by far the best herbologist and healer- mage I have come across and as such I send her to you with the best intentions, as I am curious to see if there is something she may do for your condition. You are allowed to disclose to her any details from the Test which you remember and which you think may be conductive to her research. Consider this a gift._

_Par-Salian._

Consider this a gift? Raistlin smirked. An odd choice of words. Still this reeked of some sort of plot and the mage didn't like it one bit. Why now of all times?

“I am sorry to say lady but I will not accept this help,” he told her coldly, “not to cause insult to your acclaimed healing abilities, but I myself know something of the craft and can take care of myself. There is nothing you can do for me.”

Her reaction was not one he expected. He assumed that she would be flustered enough not to make an intelligible response, but in this he was wrong. Silviana stopped fidgeting and stood up, her eyes growing cold enough to match his gaze. In spite of himself, Raistlin felt slightly awestruck by her glowering at him so.

“Oh no, Majere,” She said slowly with a venomous voice that did not suite her lovely elven face. “Let me tell you something. I have been cooped up in Qualinost for a good portion of my life being told what to do. I have since left and been studying at the tower. Studying outdated healing lore that any novice could grasp but that is way below my level of expertise. There as yet has been nothing to truly give me a challenge- nothing to test my skill and prove my worth!

Nothing save you! I was told and told truthfully from what I now gather that what ails you is like no other illness ever known to man. So you can choke on your pride, but I will be spending some time with you- examining your case. Think of yourself as the spell book I intend to study in order to gain more knowledge.”

Raistlin was impressed. He could relate to the yearning need to learn more, to experience the thrill of arcane knowledge. The woman has made her point.

“I suppose it shall not hurt to oblige you,” he said in a much more respectful tone now and commenced once more in drinking his tea. “Not to mention... there are things I am sure you can teach me. I have an interest in healing and herb lore as I have said.”

Silviana's stern composure was gone instantly, replaced by such a gleeful look that Raistlin was wondering if he had even seen that first to begin with. She plopped down into a chair next to his bed and began rummaging through her things.

“Good, now that that is settled,” she plucked out a quill, an ink pot and her personal notebook. “Tell me everything you can about your health. I assume you weren't born looking this... intense. I want to know what you were like before.”

“Straight to the point then?” Raistlin sighed.

“No need to waste time when one could always be learning,” she grinned impassively at him.

“Agreed.” Raistlin smiled slightly in his teacup and began his story.


	5. Ivor's Assignment. A Journey Begins.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins and their friends embark on their new mission. Silviana makes a discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I know, there hasn't been much written as to the nature of Raistlin's magic "shield" which caused his skin to become gold. This chapter involves my take on the history of this magical protection.

It was not long that Silviana had to recover from her journey to Langtree. The twins were on a mission, given to them by the baron. Burning with fire from their first campaign season, Caramon and Raistlin approached Ivor with a request to put them to some sort of work during the off-season. Having had a taste of battle glory, the brothers were loathe to return to Solace for the winter, no matter the appeal of Otik's spiced potatoes. Ivor, remembering well his own first days as a soldier, understood the restlessness of young blood and obliged them with a simple task that would be beneficial for him and satiate the twin's eagerness..

Hope's End was still in crisis. Although no longer threatened by annihilation at the hands of strange and ominous forces, the town was in a severe economic rut, trying hard to recover from long months of commercial inactivity. Everyone was hard put to work producing and selling what they could in these last few days of summer. It served as no help that there were now large groups of marauding highway robbers lurking in the nearby areas outside town. These were mostly men who had been part of the army mustered a few months back to invade Hope's End and who fled when it was clear that their side was losing. Now they gathered in the shadows, trying to get their revenge on the citizens of the town for depriving them of what they thought was their well-earned loot. Trading caravans that left or came to the city were attacked and robbed, the people killed and disposed off.

An appeal came to Langtree from Good King Wilhelm, asking if the Mad Baron would be able to send some of his men back to deal with this growing problem that was making it difficult for honest folk to travel the roads and make a living. Luckily for Wilhelm, Ivor always had a handful of men hanging around after campaign season, looking for odd jobs. Raistlin and Caramon, along with their now constant companion Scrounger and several other mercenaries were given the task to clear out the area and report back on the conditions. Silviana, newly arrived under circumstances not too clearly explained to the baron or any others, was attached to this small force of twenty or so men. This caused some chagrin among the more seasoned mercenaries, who after all saw a defenseless young elf-maiden that would prove a burden on the mission. The younger men were thrilled, none of them having ever seen an elf woman before and now struck dumb by her beauty were overly excited by her presence. In either case, Silviana caused a commotion which troubled Ivor of Langtree. He even went so far as to question Horkin about his decision to send Silviana, untried as she was, along with the contingent. 

“Are you sure this is wise?” The baron asked his war-mage, dark eyebrows furrowed. “These men after all, are not knights of Solomnia. There will be crude jests and maybe even attempts at persuading the lady to do some very ...unladylike things, what with no senior officers present to enforce order. Not to mention she has never so much as been in a skirmish. Sending an untrained mage into battle could be fatal to us and not the enemy.”

“Bah! Battle he says!” Horkin snorted, “they will be clearing out the rubble- getting rid of lowly murderers. Besides, Silviana knows what she is getting into. She does not propose to fight- only to heal- which is never a bad thing.” He paused, remembering the frightening hardness in Silviana's eyes when he had attempted to bar her from joining the Langtree troops, then added, “and any man attempting to bed her need only have one look at her when she is angry and all the blood will drain from the lower part of his anatomy. No, Ivor, I would not worry about the girl.”

Still uneasy, the baron conceded. After all, there were going to be some old and trusted men there and as Horkin said... they were only clearing out the rubble.  
So it was, that once the first days of autumn hit Ansalon, the twins, along with Scrounger and Silviana and a small group of mercenaries set out on the road back to Hope's End. Riding at the rear of the procession, Caramon was tersely and vaguely filled in by his brother about the nature of Silviana's attachment to them. 

“So you have been send here to heal Raist?” The big warrior looked with such hope at the elf-woman that Silviana felt embarrassed. 

“To study me, Caramon,” Raistlin said indignantly. “I cannot be healed. But it does seem I have become a curiosity to the Conclave.” The young mage smiled bitterly. 

Seeing Raistlin's discomfiture, Silviana chimed in.

“It is in the name of magical inquiry, I assure you,” she said trying to sound nonchalant and smiled inwardly seeing how the fists Raistlin clenched tightly around his reigns loosened. He could understand the desire for learning the arcane and would respect her position in regard to him on those grounds. But any suggestion of trying to help him and he would resent her, as it would only remind him of his weakness. 

“Oh, uh, sure. Well that's um.. interesting.” Caramon was uncertain what to call it at all.

“Yes, very interesting.” Raistlin shot a lingering glance at the elf-woman and she caught and held his gaze. The simple fact that she looked into his face without wavering was not lost on the mage, who was used to people averting their eyes from him in fright. He found that he was thankful for this; thankful for being able to look upon something undying and fresh to his eyes while everything around wilted, caught in his merciless hour-glass pupils. He had forgotten over this past year the simple comfort of being able to look at someone and not have them shirk away. Above all, Raistlin was astounded that there was no disgust or pity in Silviana's grass green eyes- only fascination of a scholarly type which he could relate too, although it made him feel awkward to be on the receiving end of it. 

As for Silviana, she found herself strangely excited, having met her charge and realizing that she was presented with a puzzle that she could not instantly solve. She was thrilled at the prospect of this challenge, allured by the suggestion of glory that she would acquire if she managed to learn something original- perhaps to propose a solution to the problem? But no, she was getting ahead of herself and reprimanded herself for daydreaming of a future without first examining the present. Raistlin and she had had so little time alone together that there was not much to go on as of yet. Impatiently waiting for her next opportunity to have him to herself, Silviana eagerly devoured Raistlin with her eyes. The strange metallic skin glistened like dull gold in the sunlight, complemented strangely by the long white hair. Silviana wanted to touch it with her fingers and feel its consistency. Did it feel like any other skin? Was it as hard as metal? How would it react to magic? Silviana made a note to test this. 

Silviana did not have long to wait, choosing to do a few tests as soon as camp was set up for the night. Against some protests from Raistlin, the elf-woman persuaded him into sharing a tent with her, leaving Caramon to share with Scrounger. Raistlin, first strictly against the idea, relented when Silviana made the astute guess that Caramon was a snorer and she would make a quieter companion, allowing the mage to concentrate on his studies without disruption. Silviana was proud of herself at so quickly discerning how to ingratiate the young man to herself. Of course she also understood, being a magic user, that the magic came first and as such it was an easy guess to make.

That first night after dinner, Silviana sat cross-legged on the ground beside Raistlin, who was settled comfortably in his bed-roll, reading a book. Instead of asking for his attention right away, she patiently waited until he was done a particular section and put the book away, turning his golden-eyes unto her.

“I suppose it is time that I make myself available for your perusal?” He asked caustically. 

“That would be ideal,” Silviana smiled at him warmly and caught his slight sliver of shock at that gesture. “I have been coming to some conclusions. I will need to ask you now- do you remember enough of the Test to tell me how your skin came to be that peculiar shade?”

Raistlin earnestly tried to think back on that time but, as always, there was but one thing he truly remembered about the Test. He shook his head, frowning at having to recall that ordeal.

“Alright. That makes things slightly more difficult but I think I might have an idea of how to test what your skin does.”

“What it does?” Raistlin sat up in his blankets, genuinely intrigued. “You mean to say ...my skin is not a mere curse but has magical properties of its own?”

“If it is what I think it is,” Silviana responded thoughtfully. 

“And what do you think it is?” Raistlin snapped, getting impatient. Silviana had that far-away contemplative look in her eyes that his friend Tanis half-elven got when he was thinking hard. Which meant he could be waiting a while. Must be an elven trait, Raistlin thought.

“Tell me, have you been exposed to direct magical attack from an enemy mage since taking your Test?” Silviana answered his question with one of her own.

“No I have not,” Raistlin admitted. “What does that have-” he cut himself off, suddenly cluing in to what she was thinking.

Silviana nodded to herself.

“What I tell you now I recall from some very dusty histories of my people- so dusty they were thought mythical. But you never know- so much knowledge has been lost through the ages,” the elf-woman's voice held a note of bitter regret. “Long ago, before the First Dragon Wars, there was a black-robed Silvanesti wizard named Lithonion Karinath. He was the first follower of Nuitari of any elven race. Before him, the elves had had no rules to dictate that our mages were to adhere to the doctrine of Solinari alone. It simply was unprecedented. In his novelty, Lithonion gained a strong following which shocked and angered many of the Silvanesti. This resulted in a civil war among the elves. During this time, the dark elven sorcerers were said to have invented a protective shield that would guard them from the magical attacks of their enemies. The shield was embedded inside the skin itself, with the result that it would glimmer gold.” 

Raistlin felt the excitement of a scholar who at long last found an answer he had sought.

“I have spent some time in the Tower of Wayreth looking for any tidbit of information regarding my skin and came up with nothing!” He exclaimed loudly enough that Silviana, used to his whispering voice, jumped. “Where did you learn this? What was the book called?”

Silviana blushed. 

“House Mystic has its own store of books on magical history,” she answered “many of them hidden away in cellars and forgotten. This particular one was an 'Annotated History of Elvish Defensive Spells.' There is one thing however that troubles me. The knowledge of how to cast this spell has long been lost. Yet, if your skin is in fact turned into a magic shield, you must have done it yourself, Raistlin.” 

“Which means I somehow have knowledge of a lost arcane lore which I could not possibly have nor remember how I could have obtained it.” Raistlin whispered thoughtfully, all the while he felt something familiar fly around the boundary of his subconscious mind. Somehow, this seemed right. But how would he know such magic? 

“If you do not remember, it certainly explains why you are... stuck like this. You see, the shield is supposed to be reversible. So since you cannot remember the Test, or how you came to cast the spell, you would not know how to end its effects.”

“Reversible?” Raistlin almost laughed. “You mean there is a way to return to the way I was before?”

Silviana shook her head.

“That knowledge too is lost to time. Anyhow, I must still test my theory. I will need to touch you, Raistlin. Will you allow me to do so?” Silviana asked this cautiously, having noted in the past few days that the young mage was very averse to physical contact, recoiling anytime someone touched him. Even now he tensed at the prospect, but felt strangely grateful for having been asked. Choking back his initial repulsion, Raistlin nodded. 

Carefully, the elf-woman reached out and grasped one of his thin arm with both her hands, lifting it up to hover parallel to the floor. She was immediately struck by the unnatural heat of his body and almost dropped his arm in surprise but recovered quickly. In fact, she thought to herself, the heat was pleasant. Holding up Raistlin's arm with one hand, Silviana slowly traced the fingers of the other up and down his forearm, getting a feel for the texture of his skin. It was, if anything, exceptionally smooth and soft and Silviana was startled to find herself dreading to let him go. 

Raistlin caught his breath, at first fighting an urge to pull away, then letting himself relax, becoming accustomed to her light and curious touch. After a minute, he noticed that he was even enjoying it, as the sensitive skin of his forearm began to tingle in places where her nimble fingers touched him. It was not long before the odd tingle spread down into his belly and settled there in a warm knot. Suddenly, Raistlin felt himself flush and looked up into Silviana's eyes, noting that her cheeks too were red. An awkward silence ensued and Silviana's fingers stopped their innocent caress of his arm abruptly. 

“Was that part of your test?” Raistlin cleared his throat uncertainly. 

“Y-yes,” Silviana lied then regained composure. She would not let that odd feeling creeping up on her get in the way of her studies. “Now I am going to go further. I am going to call a bit of lightning energy into my hand and send a small jolt of it into your arm. If this is in fact a shield, then the energy will glance off and likely hit me instead.” Silviana grimaced at the prospect. 

“And if it is not the shield?” Raistlin asked with slight amusement.  
“Then you will end up with a small burn,” the elf-woman grinned. 

Raistlin was not thrilled at the idea but nodded anyway, his hunger for knowledge getting the better of him.

Silviana concentrated, summoning power into her being. This particular spell, when enacted in full force would result in her being able to shoot a giant lightning bolt out of her hand. Silviana, however, did not have this in mind, but rather felt for the energy currents in the air with her conscience and drew only the slightest fraction of it into her fingertips. Saying a single command word, she watched as tiny bolts of white light sprang up around her digits. Concentrating even harder she willed the bolts to shoot out towards Raistlin's outstretched arm. 

What happened next took place in a matter of milliseconds. Silviana's tiny lightning rebounded from Raistlin's skin and flew back into her open palm with double force and speed. It collided with the elf-woman's hand with a loud cracking sound and sent her flying back to the opposite end of the tent where she landed in a heap on her own bed-roll. Nursing her injured hand, Silviana gasped in pain then burst out in self-satisfied laughter. 

“I was right! I was right!” She repeated incredulously to herself several times. Then looking at her burnt palm winced and swore lightly. 

Raistlin was by her side in that instant with the daisy ointment. Sitting on the edge of her bed-roll, he leaned over and took her hand into his, bringing her palm forward toward him and examining the damage. He sucked in his breath. The skin was raw and blisters were already swelling.

“Not so small a burn,” he whispered softly and opening the jar of ointment began to apply it to the injury with deft fingers, careful not to inflict too much pain. Silviana bit her lip as a sensation of burning liquid heat invaded her body in response to his touch. She groaned lightly. Raistlin looked over at her. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, feeling herself burn all over, ecstatic at her triumph of solving this puzzle and strangely affected by his nearness. 

“No not at all. It does not matter anyway. I was right!” She said softly, glowing with pride. 

“Yes, you were.” Raistlin smiled at her, thinking that pride suited her well. He leaned over to a pouch which held gauze and taking out the bandage started to wrap it around the burn. 

“Oh, but I must write all this down at once,” Silviana realized staring with ire at her injured hand. “This may cause a problem. I cannot write left handed.”

Raistlin finished his work and let go of her wrapped hand but remained sitting on her bedroll. 

“If you dictate what you wish me to write I can take down the notes for you,” Raistlin offered, a bit shyly. 

With a wide grin, Silviana grabbed her notebook and quill and handed them to the young mage.

Just at that moment, the tent flap flew open and in barged a concerned looking Caramon. 

“Are you two alright? We all heard a loud crackling sound...” The big man started but was rudely interrupted by his twin.

“Yes, and your response time is impeccable my brother,” Raistlin's voice was contemptuous and Silviana found herself cringing at his tone. “Had we been under attack no doubt we would be dead by now.”

Caramon shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, scratching his head. 

“Sorry, Raist. We were all certain it was some magic the two of you were working and didn't want to interrupt.” At that Caramon looked up and noticed for the first time that Raistlin and Silviana sat closely together on one bed-roll. His eyes shifted from his brother to the elf woman and then back again. “I just thought I would check up on you.” The warrior seemed uncertain now.

“I thank you for your concern Caramon. You were right. It was magic. Now please, leave us to our studies.” Raistlin glared at him intently. His bigger twin shrugged his shoulders.

“Sure, Raist.” With a last strange look at his brother and Silviana, Caramon turned on his heel and walked out the door. 

Raistlin dipped a quill and looked over at Silviana expectantly. Taking a deep breath, she began to dictate.


	6. An Obvious Trap.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raistlin and Silviana struggle with developing feelings. The mercenaries reach their destination. A trap is suspected.

The next several days passed without incident as the small troop traveled onward to Hope's End. After her initial discovery regarding Raistlin's golden skin, Silviana made no further progress. In truth, she found herself stunted. A magical shield was not exactly a health issue, although she did suspect that since all magic is an expenditure of energy, a constant, albeit unconscious, maintenance of a magical shield must be draining physically in some respect. Nevertheless there was truly nothing she could do as this arcane magic was something lost to time. Neither did it help that Raistlin grew outwardly more annoyed at her presence since that first night. Silviana did not know what she had done that made him shrink from her now with something akin to severe dislike, when he had appeared so close to dropping his guard around her. 

More bothersome still was that she found herself disappointed at being denied this nearness. Silviana was not a naive maiden who could not recognize the symptoms of attraction and she knew without a doubt that she felt them keenly now. Silviana had always been drawn to the mysterious and the dangerous, and there was no denying that Raistlin was both. His strange physical appearance fascinated her to a point nearing arousal and the intense aura of powerful magic which radiated from him lured her as a moth to a flame. But he was untouchable, and after the night when she had been allowed to touch him and test her theory about the shield, a night when she could have sworn she saw a responding warmth in his golden eyes, he had become doubly cold.

Silviana sighed, thinking with dismay, that it was probably for the best. She usually made bad choices regarding men, as was proven by her last liaison. Silviana had fallen in love with a young elf from the royal family, someone above her station. He too had loved her and they pursued their illicit relationship for many months before being found out. The ensuing scandal could have been fatal to his reputation had it been made public and it was only due to her own family's important standing that a pardon for Silviana's transgression was grudgingly granted. Broken hearted and miserable, Silviana was relieved when a summons came from Par-Salian and traveled to Wayreth with the intent to never return to her elven homeland. Long months of study and absorption in her art allowed the elf-woman to find peace at long last and put the memory of her sordid love affair behind her. Now this new attraction threatened to break her calm and contentment and she swore to herself that she would bury the feelings beginning to take shape in her heart, refusing to let them surface. Especially because Raistlin Majere had so little interest in her. 

The young mage, in turn, was angry with himself. Long ago he had had the sobering realization that he would never be looked upon by a woman with interest, so long as Caramon was around anyway. That was before the Test had left him looking the way he did now, forever casting into darkness any romantic notion that Raistlin may have had. When Silviana arrived at Langtree, the mage found a strange sort of pleasure in the fact that here was a beautiful woman, an elf at that, who was especially assigned to work with him. There were moments when his mind wandered, for which he chided himself instantly, knowing his fancies were only a result of the novel experience of being at the center of feminine attention. After the first night in the tent, Raistlin realized the dangers of his folly. Relaxing his guard for moments, he had felt something warm and enticing begin to grow within him and knew in that moment that should he let it show, Silviana would be repulsed. Worse, he would look and feel like a fool and would never be able to live with himself, for if there is anything that he could not stand, it was idiocy. So he made the effort to be as outwardly indifferent to Silviana as possible, avoiding her presence and using the free time during rest stops on the journey to study his books in solitude.

On the sixth day of travel the mercenary group was in sight of the woods that bordered the road as it neared Hope's End. It was nearing sundown and their leader, a gruff one-eyed man by the name of Rudd, called for a halt. 

“We stop here for th' night,” he said with a pronounced lisp, “Scrounger here will go out to scout inside the parameters of the forest and report back if any sign of these bandits can be found.”

“Then what?” Caramon looked eagerly to Rudd. The big man was bored and itching for combat. “We follow their trail and surround their camp by night while they sleep?”

Rudd spat at the ground and glared at Caramon with one bright blue eye.

“We don't wanna attack them in the forest, thats their turf, ya see? We need to lead them out unto the road where we can see how many of em we are fighting and cut off any reinforcements.”

“But for that you'll need to know how many of them there are,” Scrounger nodded knowingly. 

“Exactly,” Rudd concurred. “That's what yer job is, kid. Take this hulking bear with you for protection. And Caramon,” the old merc scowled disapprovingly. “Take off all that armor and go in with your sword only. Otherwise you'll be making so much noise that the robbers will be unto us without a doubt.”

Caramon looked sulky but complied with the command. Soon Scrounger and him were off towards the woods, leaving the rest of the mercenaries to unpack their travel gear and set up for the night. The company had procured two large wagons along with tarps in a village they had passed earlier in the day. Some of the men had at first been confused by this, however with the camp set up, Rudd proceeded to explain the situation. Four of the men would act as wealthy merchants and sit at the front of the wagons which would be drawn by the pack horses. The rest of the men would hide inside the wagons beneath the tarps, while their horses would be stripped of their gear and tethered to look as though they were being transported to the marketplace for sale. The idea was that the bandits would come out to rob the alleged merchants and in turn be surprised and attacked by the mercenaries inside the wagons. Raistlin was to remain hidden until the last possible moment in order to give the group a further advantage, as their enemies would not being prepared to face a wizard. 

Everyone was satisfied with the plan, except Silviana, who did not figure into it. When she asked Rudd what she was to do, the old merc- who was part of the faction that apposed Silviana being on this trip- stared her down with ire and said:  
“You hide where they can't see you and wait for this all to be done and then take care of the wounded.” With that he turned his back to her, implying that the discussion was over.

Fuming, Silviana stormed off towards the tent, nearly tearing the opening flap off in her anger as she barged inside. Raistlin, quietly reviewing his attack spells on his bed roll, started up in annoyance at this unusual display of emotions.

“This Rudd, treats me as though I am a hindrance! Stay out of sight during the fight and tend to the wounded!” Silviana's firsts were clenched and she shook with range, glaring at Raistlin for all the world as though it was his fault.

“With all due respect, lady, you are a hindrance,” Raistlin upraised her coolly. “You are no war mage. And you cannot use any weapon other than your dagger for protection so you are utterly useless in a fight.”

Silviana's eyes darkened to a deep green, as they did only when she was experiencing a very strong emotion. She stalked over to her side of the tent and took up her pack. Slowly, she pulled out a tightly wrapped, long bundle and sitting down, thoughtfully placed it upon her lap. Looking to Raistlin with an expression that suggested they were about to share a secret, she slowly began to unwrap the object. When he could see what it was,the young mage gasped and looked with open shock at Silviana, for upon her lap rested a finely crafted short bow, and a bunch of arrows.

“I know what you are thinking Raistlin,” Silviana's eyes never left his own. “It is in breach of our protocol for me to bear a weapon other than my dagger.”

“Then why do you carry the bow?” Raistlin raised an eyebrow quizzically but his voice did not contain any judgment. 

Silviana flushed.

“I had been trained as a ranger, for as a younger member of one of House Mystic's multiple families, it was never certain that I would even have enough magic to be deemed worthy of taking the Test. My abilities were... questionable by elven standards. I learned the bow to allow me to have another potential occupation should I not become a mage or be conveniently married off. As it were, I found that I liked it and even after taking the Test, I could not put it away for good.”

“I begin to suspect why you are a mage of the red,” Raistlin mused softly. “Although the healing is an inherent quality of the whites, you do not choose to adhere to rules but wish to follow your own path.”

Silviana gave a small nod, feeling her anger leave her. 

“And I hate to feel useless,” she said in a raspy voice. “You are right, I am no war-mage. I cannot cast fire missiles and my lightnings are hardly adequate. That small display from the other night,” Silviana gestured to her injured arm, “was the extent of my abilities. But I am a damn good shot.” 

“If you worry that I would reveal your secret to the Conclave, I assure you that I will not. However, I cannot make that promise for Horkin or any other mage we may come across.”

“I know,” Silviana said meekly, “I suppose one day, it will get me in trouble. But quite honestly, I don't give a damn.” Her eyes glittered dangerously and in that moment, Raistlin could not help but admire the woman. He admired her and detested her for making him admire her, as with his admiration that other unwanted feeling threatened to come to the fore of his being. 

“Oh and I would not be too concerned about not being able to shoot missiles,” he smiled wryly, “Horkin will whip you into shape in no time.”

Silviana stared at him blankly a moment then burst out into hearty laughter. She laughed until she bawled and then until tears fell streaming down her face. Raistlin was bemused, which showed on his pointed face clearly, but his expression only made her laugh all that much harder. 

“You are strange, Silviana,” Raistlin told her once she had laughed her fill. “From all I have been lead to believe, elves are reserved and cool. They do not show excessive emotions- unless they be contempt for those of other races. They are not warm and compassionate to the suffering of us humans. And above all, they adhere to rules and dislike change. At least these are the things that I have heard. You.. you are nothing like this.”

Silviana was startled and was just about to reply when a commotion broke out inside the camp. Caramon and Scrounger had returned. Glad to avoid talking about herself as much as possible, Silviana took this opportunity to suggest that they see what is going on.

Outside, the men were gathered around the two who have just returned from the expedition. Caramon was by the fire, devouring no doubt double the share of the evening's rabbit stew while Scrounger described what they had seen. Eager interest adorned the faces of the other mercenaries, their features lit up by the glaring camp fire and accentuated by the falling darkness around them.

“We found tracks almost right away,” Scrounger was saying excitedly. “Caramon wanted to follow the main path, but I veered off on a side trail and there they were! Tracks of many armed men, leading into the heart of the forest. We followed the tracks about three quarters of an hour until we reached their camp. It is in a small glade surrounded by evergreens just north-east of here. I had no troubles sneaking up to the border, as there were no guards set up, see.”

Rudd was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“And what did you see once you were there?” 

“Not much, to tell the truth. They were all gathered around a fire- there were maybe thirty of them. Big and hulking fellows mostly, but some hobs and gobs as well.”

“Thirty you say? I am surprised that that small a force was able to cause so much havoc.” Rudd said. 

“I do not like this, sir,” Raistlin came forward. “It was too easy for us to locate them. And the fact that there were no sentries posted is suspicious. Almost like they wanted us to see exactly what we saw.”

“To carry the wrong information back to camp, yes.” Rudd agreed. “This is strange indeed. However, our current plan of action is still the best we got. We will go along with it but proceed with caution. There may well be a trap here somewhere.”

Raistlin cleared his throat tentatively.

“If I may, sir, I have an alternative idea.”

***

As it turned out, there was indeed a trap. The bandits may have been cutthroat deserters from a dragon army, but they were well organized and had informers in close by towns. One of their men had been in the village that the mercenaries passed through earlier that day and overheard them talking of their task and purchasing wagons. That information was passed down a swift and secret network of spies until it reached the ring-leader of the outlaws. In the end, it was just as Raistlin suspected. 

The outlaw leader, Terris Loft, had a knack for improvisation. Formerly a mercenary from Port Balifor, he had been one of the first to arrive in the North when a rumor of armies was just beginning to drift over Ansalon. Lacking the necessary artistry to fake humility before Ariakas, Terris was considered too dangerous to be made commander of his own army and thus the task had fallen unto Kholos. Terris fumed then and he fumed even more when the siege of Hope's End finished in disaster for their side. He now harbored no love for either side of the conflict, and as these things often go, decided to band together any who would follow and make an army of sorts of his own. His current plan was to starve out Hope's End by intersecting any trade that might profit the town and, when enough time has passed, to infiltrate the city through stealth and attack from the inside, thus making his that which the incompetent commander Kholos failed to appropriate.

Terris' best advantage came as is usual with surprise. What Caramon and Scrounger had assumed was a small band of thirty or so men, was in fact, a well organized force of about three-hundred, dispersed and hidden throughout the woods. The young men had seen exactly what Terris had wanted them to see, in order to put the smaller mercenary force at ease, and thus to more easily overwhelm them. Terris was used to mercenaries and knew that the bulk of the men would not be especially bright. His hopes then were not to kill, but to capture the band with the intent of persuading the men to join him. It was after all a matter of profit and it would not be unusual for mercenaries to switch sides when better stakes were offered. A handful of well trained warriors would serve Terris better dead than alive.

***

Dawn broke out upon the misty road and the small band of mercenaries proceeded with some alterations upon their mission. After studying a map of the terrain more closely, it had been decided that Raistlin along with his twin, Silviana and Scrounger would follow an alternate path that paralleled the main route that the others would take concealed in the wagons. A few miles down the road there was a sharp downward slope that would bring them into a vale closely surrounded by trees. There was no question in anyone's mind that this was the perfect spot for an ambush to take place. 

Scrounger had been sent out once more to discover if there was a parallel path to the main route that looked like it had not been used. Such there was, although it was nothing more than a game trail that seems the bandits had overlooked. Whatever the case, the path went more or less alongside the road and was concealed enough that a few travelers could hide easily behind the brush. Better yet, this path eventually lead to a hill rise which commanded a view of the vale in which the proposed ambush was to take place. There were no traces of human passage and as such, this provided a decent hideout for the four companions who would stay out of the initial fray. It was lucky for the band that the force of the outlaws was situated on the northern side of the woods, leaving the southern untouched. 

The four companions left an hour before the rest, with the intent of keeping a close watch upon the area and giving ample warning to the rest if there was something amiss. Silviana brought her short bow. In the event that they should see something suspicious, she was to set the arrow on fire and shoot it into the sky. This placed them in a precarious position, as it might give the rest of the mercenaries enough time to retreat from the danger zone, but would leave their own position exposed. Nevertheless it had to be tried. 

The trek along the game trail was a simple one, as was finding a good look out spot on the hill rise. The vale with the road passing through was directly beneath them.

“Silviana, use your elven vision and tell us if you can see anything,” Raistlin gave the command. It had been his idea that the elf-woman come along, as her vision was infinitely better than that of a human, in addition to which she had trained as a ranger, honing her sharp-eyes to see enemies hiding among the trees. 

Obediently, Silviana began to look across the road into the other section of forest sprawling out behind it. Almost instantly, she could make out figures hiding beneath the cover of leaves and bushes, sitting still and ready for action. She took a head count and relaxed.

“Thirty. Just as Scrounger had counted,” Silviana confirmed.

“Whew, that is a relief,” said the half-kender with a whistle. “I guess they are just poorly organized.”

“We had better get back to the rest before they reach the vale, or we will miss all the fighting,” Caramon eagerly began to descent the hill rise, but Raistlin grabbed hold of his shoulder.

“No brother,” the mage spoke softly but firmly. “We stay here. There is something amiss here and I know it.”

Caramon halted, frowning. 

“Sure Raist, if you say so.”

Raistlin's attention turned to Silviana and his thin fingers clutched her wrist non to gently.

“What else do you see? Look harder!”

Silviana found it hard to concentrate with him touching her, but she obeyed. Come to think of it, she too could feel that something was wrong. There was a distant, yet familiar, tingle to the atmosphere. And then it struck her.

“Raistlin! You feel that don't you?” Silviana's slanted eyes widened as she looked at him in alarm.

Raistlin hissed an acknowledgment and let go of her wrist sharply.

“What is it?” Scrounger and Caramon asked in unison.

“Magic! There is a mage down there preparing a spell,” Raistlin looked to Silviana, “which one is it?”

Silviana looked as hard as she could, but even her vision had its limits. 

“I -I don't know! I can't make out which one it is!” She felt herself begin to shake.

“Useless!” Raistlin rounded on her in anger, “then light the damn arrow! The men are almost at the vale.”

Sure enough, they can see from their vantage point the two wagons which held the hidden mercenaries come into view. Soon they would enter the vale and fall victim to the ambush. 

Silviana felt tears sting her eyes at Raistlin's insult but her hands were steady as she put an arrow to her bow and cast a simple spell to ignite the end. Pointing straight up in the air, she let her missile fly, streaking a bright ribbon of fire across the morning sky. 

 

“Now we must get away before they come to investigate!” Scrounger insisted and they began to scramble quickly down the hill. 

In that moment the aura of magic intensified around them and Silviana and Raistlin looked at each other in alarm.

“Damn it to the Abyss!” Raistlin cried, reaching for his spell components. But it was too late. Everything went black around them, obscuring their vision; a magic- wrought darkness that let them see no more.


	7. Captured and Separated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raistlin confronts a new enemy; Silviana must take on the responsibility of saving the group.

The wizard's name was Caine Blacksworth and he was a renegade black robe. As is usually the case with black robes- and renegades- Caine had his own alternate agenda. He did not care for the plans of Terris and his ambitions to take over Hope's End. What he did care about were the eggs- the metallic dragon's eggs that were the reason behind the initial attack on the town. Unknown to all, he had been secretly directed by Ariakas to keep at eye on the new upstart commander Uth-Matar and Immolatus in the event that things should go awry and the eggs were not claimed. 

Things did go awry and the eggs were not claimed. Unfortunately Caine had lost track of the woman and the dragon-mage in the commotion during the attack when the mercenary troops of the Mad Baron decided to betray Kholos' troops. The black robe was able to trace Kitiara to what appeared to be a temple to one of the ancient Gods, whose power still shrouded the place in protection against his kind. He could not follow, but he could watch. Ultimately there was not much to see, but there was enough to be felt. There was a point at which a deep rumble shook the earth, seemingly stemming from the mountain range behind the city. And soon after that Caine had seen that strange red-robed mage with golden skin and white hair emerge from the temple with his brother. 

After doing some investigating, Caine was able to piece together roughly what happened. The dragon-mage was killed, either by Kitiara or the mysterious red-robe- although the renegade wizard thought it must have been something of a joint effort. There must have been a safety mechanism inside the temple which activated a landslide on the opposite side of the mountain range, which ultimately blocked access to the cave wherein the eggs lay hidden. Kitiara subsequently curtailed back to Sanction and Ariakas, leaving Caine with the unfortunate job of figuring out where the now sealed passage to the eggs lay.

The mission, in essence, seemed pointless, but Caine was reluctant to go back to Sanction in failure. So he had stuck around with Terris' band of deserters looking for an opportunity to present itself. Finally, when the mercenary troop was sighted in a nearby village and heading towards the woods, Caine got his chance. For sighted among the soldiers was a gaunt, golden-skinned red-robe. The renegade wizard was certain that there could be no two men matching that description. In getting his hands on this peculiar mage, Caine would at last have the answer to the demise of Immolatus and possibly a key to reclaiming the lost dragon eggs. Being able to deliver the eggs to Ariakas would significantly boost Caine's standing in the dragon-army.

The trap was easy. The bandits baited the scouts of the mercenary troop, leading them to a place where they saw what was intended- a small portion of the deserter force hiding out in the woods. But Caine had counted on the red-robe's intellect and hoped to use it against him. He figured that the other mage would smell foul play and separate from the main group, wanting to stay aloof and warn the others should an ambush be discovered. The rest was easy enough- there was only one location that would strategically make sense for the red-robe to go to as a look-out- the hill on the southern side of the woods. 

Caine had hid and waited and his patience had paid off. Intent upon observing the hidden bandits on the other side of the road, the mage and his companions did not notice the black-robe until the first tendrils of magic could be felt upon the air. Caine received a shock when he realized that in his absorption with the golden-skinned young man he had failed to identify the elven woman as another magic user. That has almost been his undoing, for she had been able to sense the magical casting before her companion and had she been able to trace it to its source he would have lost his concentration and possibly miscast his spell. 

Yet Caine had been lucky- they did not notice him and soon enough it did not matter. Spell casting his eyes first so that his own magic black out did not affect him, the renegade wizard shrouded the world in darkness, rendering his targets useless.

***

The last thing Raistlin remembered after the darkness swallowed them was a hard knock on the head. After a natural kind of fainting darkness engulfed his mind and he was no longer aware of anything at all.

He came too sometime later with agonizing slowness, his head still spinning from the impact of the blow. The first thing that struck him was that he was tied around a tree trunk, his spell components and his staff nowhere in close proximity. And neither were his companions. Raistlin was alone.

No, not alone, he realized upon hearing a rustle of leaves near him. A rustle caused by someone walking in robes. Slowly, painfully, Raistlin lifted his head to look at his captor.

“So, you awaken,” spoke an impassive baritone voice, laced with a familiar Solamnic accent. The man it belonged to must have been well over six feet, with long blond hair and a strong, Solamnic jaw-line. Steel-gray eyes peered out from heavy set brows which seemed perpetually furrowed. The man wore mustaches, in mock imitation of the Solamnic knighthood, except his were of the same length as his abundant hair, flowing out to the waist. The robes which adorned his well sculpted, if relatively lean, figure, were black. “I am called Caine Blacksworth.”

Regardless of his obvious disadvantage, Raistlin could not help but smirk cynically.

“A Solamnic wizard? I am making some odd acquaintances these days.” he said with equal parts disdain and wonder. “I thought Solmania is not keen on wizards.”

Cain Blacksworth's face remained stoic, an ironic sign of his heritage.

“No they do not,” he answered coolly, “but we are not here to discuss cultural taboos.”

“Oh no? And here I thought you went through all this trouble of capturing me because you needed a sympathetic ear,” Raistlin retorted, purposefully baiting his foe.

A strong hand came down in a whiplash to strike Raistlin across the mouth, drawing blood.

“You would do well to keep your smart mouth closed until spoken too,” Caine ordered. 

“Or what? Will you make me suffer, black-robe? Oh, no -you need me for something. Otherwise you wouldn't go through all this elaborate trouble in order to have me here at your disposal.” Raistlin knew he was walking a thin line, however, he could not help but be curious about this strange wizard. “So tell me,” he pressed on. “where are the mercenaries? And where are my companions?”

Caine's face took on an amused cast. 

“Oh don't worry, young man,” he said in his emotionless Solamnic drawl, “nothing will happen to them. The brigands will have had your small group surrounded by now. But Terris is smart- he will not kill them, but rather he will try and persuade them to join his cause. And with three hundred men already at his command, it is doubtful that any smart mercenary will refuse that offer. As for your friends, they are also safe. I am keeping them as an insurance for your good behavior and answers to my questions.”

 

“How do you know I care enough to behave?” Raistlin's eyes narrowed.

Caine Blacksworth looked at him thoughtfully, studying those squinting hour-glass pupils. 

“Because you have not pulled your apathetic act together yet,” Caine said after some observation. “You know you are different and that your friends- none of them- accept you completely. But nevertheless, you do care. Your heart is kind behind your mask. It will be sometime before you learn that in order to truly free your heart from the burden of that care you must leave everyone behind and strike out on your own. That is the path to true power, little mage.” 

Raistlin looked grim as something rang true in the black-robe's words and struck home. No bitter and biting remarks came to mind. He just sat still shivering from the slight chill in the air, blood from his mouth trickling down his chin and neck, golden-eyes strangely expressive. 

“But enough of that,” Caine waved a hand in Raistlin's direction and slowly bent down, coming to sit cross legged on the ground opposite the younger mage. “You are right to say that I did not bring you here to get sentimental. I want answers, little mage. I want to know how you defeated the wizard Immolatus and I need to know what you know about his mission here.”

“How... how do you know that I had anything to do with killing Immolatus?” Raistlin whispered, but his words lacked defiance. 

“That should matter naught to you.” An unpleasant smile spread across the pale face of the Solamnic wizard. “Now, tell me all that you know.”

***

Out of the three other companions, Silviana was the first to wake. Herself, Caramon and Scrounger were overtaken by a sleeping spell, cast swiftly after the cloud of darkness. Raistlin, inadvertently, was the only one to escape the magical sleep, for he tripped in the dark and rolled out of the way of the casting. As a result, he got clubbed in the head instead. 

When she came too, Silviana found that she too was bound to a tree, the forms of Caramon and Scrounger on either side of her. But Raistlin... Raistlin she saw nowhere. Her heart began to beat in panicked rhythm, clenching painfully inside her chest. Thoughts of her failure invaded her head, which made tears begin to form beneath her eyelids. Silviana squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lips so as to not make any sound. 

Never in her life had she been in any life threatening situation, the majority of it having been spent in the safety of Qualinesti. Now faced with a grim reality of possibly dying ignominiously, Silviana was terrified. What she considered to be her failure was like a knife in her gut, jabbing and twisting restlessly. 

You fool, you damn fool! She thought in anguish while trying desperately to stifle heart-wrenching sobs. You have known nothing of this world and of its cruelties. You came unprepared into man's dominion, armed only with conceit and a false self-assurance that even you did not believe in. And the truth is, you know nothing! NOTHING and now everyone you were with will suffer as a consequence. 

Yet eventually her anger at herself started to burn away the feeling of failure and self-pity. Feeling the fury rise, Silviana braced herself, fists clenched against the restraints that bound her to the tree. She might have been unable to prevent them from getting into this predicament, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let her insecurities get in the way of them escaping. Wiggling fiercely, Silviana jabbed an elbow hard into Caramon, who was still snoozing to her right side.

With a start, the warrior woke and looked around. Noting the obvious disappearance of his twin, Caramon let out an agonizing moan. Silviana jabbed him with her elbow once more.

“Quiet,” she hissed through clenched teeth, a dead calm beginning to settle over her as the beginnings of a plan began to take shape. Although the mage who cast their magic on them was missing, there were guards posted some distance away from the tree. Silviana could make out the shapes of three armed men in near proximity from where they were tied up, none of whom seemed to be paying very much attention to the captives. 

And most importantly, she could see the Staff of Magius propped up alongside Caramon and Scrounger's weapons against a nearby tree.

The half-kender too had come around at this point, and noting the gravity of the situation remained quiet.

“Raistlin's gone,” he commented under his breath matter-of-factually. “and we don't know what befell the rest of the group. What's the plan?” his eyes settled expectantly on the elf-woman and Silviana could have laughed at this evident placement of herself in the leadership role. 

Taking a deep breath, Silviana looked to the big warrior, taking into account his incredible biceps.

“Caramon,” she began urgently, “how fast can you break the ropes binding us?”

Caramon looked up at her, determination livening his eyes. 

“Two, maybe three minutes.”

Silviana nodded and looked over at Scrounger.

“I will try to summon Raist's staff to me and have it in hand as soon as the bonds are broken,” she continued, “once we are freed, I want you to use all your speed to spring and grab up the other weapons. There are only three of them here- I see no other auras in the vicinity. If we do this quickly, we can overpower them – and go in search of Raistlin.”

Scrounger and Caramon nodded solemnly and Silviana released a breath she did not know she was holding. Looking once more towards their guards to make sure they were inattentive, Silviana gave the signal and Caramon began to strain his considerable girth against the binding ropes, the veins in his neck and arms popping mercilessly. 

The elf-woman turned her attention to the Staff. She knew she was taking a gamble, for it was in the nature of such artifacts to bind themselves to their master- which would mean that the Staff would not obey her commands. Nevertheless, she had to try. Making her mind blank, Silviana reached out mentally for the Staff. She encountered a strange sort of evasive energy about the artifact which made it hard for her to focus. It was like trying to catch a fish in the water using only bare hands. Silviana's vision became distorted as the fickle Staff subverted her attempt to make contact.

Please, Silviana thought in exasperation, he is in trouble and might die if we do not find him! Help me so that I may bring you to your master!

The reaction was instantaneous as the energy around the Staff changed from evasive to determined, the semi-sentient object springing up easily from its resting place at the tree and flying fast towards Silviana. Just at that moment, Caramon succeeded in snapping the bonds which held them captive, the ropes leaving brutal friction wounds along his arms and chest. Silviana was able to outstretch her arm just in time to catch the plummeting Staff of Magius firmly in her right hand. Scrounger was on his feet and lunging for their weapons in the same moment that the their captors noticed the commotion and sprung into action themselves. 

“Shirak!” Silviana used Raistlin's command word without hesitation, exhilaration flooding her as she felt the raw power inside the wood begin to churn in response and the crystal ball in its dragon's claw burst into sudden light. Their attackers were momentarily blinded by the unexpected brightness, giving Scrounger the opportunity to toss Caramon his sword. The big warrior caught it in one hand and rushed one of the men, striking him a death blow before he had time to realize what was happening. The half-kender himself had drawn a long dagger and ran to engage the second bandit, who fumbled with his still sheathed weapon and stumbled backwards in his haste. Scrounger's blade found the soft skin of the man's throat and cut deep, leaving him to fall lifeless. 

Only one man was left and he was faster than his comrades had been at getting his bearings. Targeting Silviana, the bandit drew a short sword and ran towards her, blade poised to kill. Caramon released an angry snarl and hurried to intersect him before he reached the elf-woman, but he was too far away to reach him in time. 

Joined with the Staff, Silviana felt more powerful than even in her entire life, magic singing in her veins and the words to a dozen different spells running in her mind. A confident smile bloomed on her full lips as she watched the enemy soldier approach her. Her arm, as though lead by the Staff, rose and made an elegant and thorough sweep that was deadly in its efficiency. The Staff collided with the man's head at full force, the power of the blow enhanced greatly by its magic. Silviana heard the snap of bone and the man's neck broke and a lifeless corpse fell at her feet.

After a moment, the intoxicating effects of the magic wore off and Silviana gasped in astonishment, never having experienced anything quiet like it. Oh, but to feel and command such power forever! She stroked the wood of the Staff lovingly, envying Raistlin. Then her eyes fell to the body that lay stretched out on the ground before her, neck bent on an unnatural angle and the smile slowly fell from her lips. Silviana had never killed before and she felt now a keen abomination to her nature as a healer. Somberly she looked to the Staff again and envied Raistlin no longer. No, to give in to such power had a nasty price- the losing of one's self.

“Silviana,” Caramon shook the elf-woman out of her reverie. There was a definite respect in his voice that was not present there before. “What now?”

At that moment Scrounger ran up.

“I found a trail!” The half-kender was saying excitedly. “There were tracks – marks made by a wizard's robes. The boot prints are heavy, made by a large man. It must be that enemy mage who cast this spell on us. He is due north-east of here.”

Silviana nodded.

“And if we follow him- we will find Raistlin,” the elf-woman walked to where the rest of their confiscated things lay, picking up her and Raistlin's component pouches and attaching them to her belt. She also retrieved her bow and arrows and secured them at her back. “We deal with a dangerous enemy- one who will not be taken off guard as easily as these men. We must proceed with utter caution.”

With that, the three set off upon the trail, Scrounger leading them, Silviana in the middle and Caramon bringing up the rear and not making a sound despite his considerable arsenal of weaponry.


	8. Reunited.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silviana rescues Raistlin and the two are once more confronted with unwanted feelings and sensations. However, they are not out of the clear yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And no worries- Blacksworth shall not be defeated that easily.

Her heart pounding excessively, Silviana stared out into the clearing before her, Caramon and Scrounger stilling their breath behind her back. A conveniently placed thistle bush provided ample protection behind which to hide. However, the tall black-robed mage paid no heed to what was happening behind him, his attention tied firmly to a bound Raislin, whose own glowering golden eyes were fastened upon his captor. 

Silviana prayed to whatever gods listened, thanking them for their enemy's carelessness and hoping against hope that it should continue. She also realized that she did not know how to proceed from here. She dared not attempt spell casting, as the older and more experienced black-robe would doubtless notice the magical weaving around him and then all would be for naught. No- whatever they did now, they had to rely on wits and not magic, at least initially. 

For the hundredth time, the elf-woman took survey of their surroundings. Then her heart skipped a beat. The black-robe was standing beneath a tall oak tree, it's rich canopy of thick branches spreading out far above his head. A desperate idea occurred to her and she looked over at Scrounger and Caramon. She dared not talk but began to gesticulate frantically, trying to impart what she was thinking. Luckily, the men were on the same track as her, Scrounger nodding fervently to acknowledge that he understood what was expected of him. 

Just at that moment the black-robed mage's hand shot out to strike Raislin across the face and Silviana saw blood drawn. She felt her insides clench at the sight, her eyes stinging with tears,which this time had nothing to do with self pity. 

Don't you hurt him, she thought desperately, don't you dare hurt him... or I will... I will....

The entirety of her plan came to her. She would not let this awful wizard harm Raislin. Deep down in the suddenly aching core of her soul, Silviana realized that she came to care for him in a manner she never thought possible. Oh she had felt it before, that first night in the tent, but the reality of just how far those feelings ran was never as clear to her as it was now. The thought was both exhilarating and frightening, but she had no time to question it at this moment. Her mind was decided and there was no longer desperation- only a calm certainty.  
With a stern motion of her pointed chin, Silviana ordered Scrounger to proceed, her own fingers tightening around the Staff of Magius. 

***

“I know nothing!” Raistlin spat blood in Caine's general direction, all defiance. 

“Stop this nonsense,” Caine hissed, long fingers disdainfully brushing away flakes of blood from his face. “The wizard went into the temple. You followed him in and he did not leave again. A landslide covered the side of the mountain and the pathway to the eggs was hidden. I need to know where it is!” The black-robe bent down so low his nose was practically touching Raistlin's, eyes alight with indignant fury. Above them the old oak tree began to creak, but neither of the wizards paid it much head. 

Eggs...eggs? Raistlin's mind was racing, he felt like there was a memory triggered that he couldn't quite place. If I could only keep this mage talking...

“I will tell you nothing,” Raistlin bluffed, watching a muscle twitch in Caine's jaw. 

“I've just about had it with you,” one strong hand came up to grasp Raistlin by the throat, fingers sinking into the young mage's esophagus. “Was Uth Matar in league with you? Is this all a ploy to retrieve the dragon eggs and keep them for yourself to gain Ariakas's favor?” Caine was growing hysterical, spittle foaming on the corners of his mouth. 

Bits and pieces of information fell into place...

Uth Matar? What did Kitiara have to do with this? DRAGON eggs? Who is Ariakas?... if only I could get him to keep talking for a while longer so I can figure out what this is all about... 

Raistln licked his dry lips, preparing to further bait the black-robe. At that very moment, a loud whistling noise broke the atmosphere. Too late, the Solamnic mage released Raislin, the shock of realization dawning on his face. His head snapped up just in time to take the full impact of the falling stone, a sickening crunch accompanying the collision. Caine Blacksworth flew backwards with an anguished howl, several teeth flying loose from his mouth, jaw bone unhinged and swinging at an awkward angle.

Scrounger jumped down from the tree at the same time Silviana appeared in the clearing brandishing the Staff of Magius, Caramon quick on her heels. Not wasting a moment, Silviana spun the Staff in a wild arch, directing a gust of magical wind at the black-robe. The powerful gale picked up the mage, sending him flying into a nearby tree, knocking him out for good. 

Ecstatic at the seemingly easy victory, Silviana ran towards Raistlin but Caramon beat her to him, freeing a dagger from his sheath and falling to his knees beside his brother. Blade in hand, Caramon sawed through the bonds that tied Raistlin to the tree.

“Raist, are you alright?” Caramon grasped Raistlin by the shoulders, shaking him.

“Yes, you blithering idiot,” Raistlin hissed incredulously. “Now help me up!”

No sooner had Caramon helped his twin up did Raistlin shake himself free with a look of disgust. His eyes found Silviana, a feeling of rage beginning to smolder within him as he took in the Staff of Magius in her hands. The thought that the magical artifact had answered to her, had worked for her, was maddening. He was given the Staff- the first one in centuries to receive it. To have someone else usurp its power was unthinkable. The young mage rounded on her in a fury, making Silviana back away with a start.

“You!” Raistlin whispered hoarsely, reaching out and grasping Silviana's wrists hard enough that the elf-woman felt the tiny bones in them grind painfully together. With a gasp, she released the Staff of Magius, dropping it to the ground. She tried to take a step back and tripped over a root instead, falling forward against Raistlin. The intense heat radiating from within the mage's frail body enveloped her in warm folds and Silviana felt suddenly flushed and breathless. She looked into his face, which was taunt with rage, white hair tangled and wild, and did not feel anger or fear like she would have if it were any other man. Instead, she felt oddly excited at being held like this, the pain of his fingers on her wrists a welcome thrill. She had the sudden sick desire to have him command her to do.... to do what exactly?

“Don't you ever touch MY staff again, do you hear me?” 

Well, those were not the words she thought she wanted to hear- but that tone of voice! By Lunitari, what was wrong with her? She had never had such a profound urge to be submissive- it was so far from her nature. 

“Yes, Raist, I promise I won't do it again,” Silviana's voice was oddly hushed, her eyes, meeting Raistlin's enraged ones, were glazed over peculiarly.

All of a sudden, Raistlin was too acutely aware of her body pressed against his, the swell of her breasts heaving enticingly against his chest, the pulse in her wrists beating frantically. A vague recollection of Miranda, a girl from Solace he had once fancied, fleeted through his mind. The held hands, the brushing lips. A well of unfulfilled desire and an intoxicating tightness in his body. The despair and anger when he found the object of his affection in his brothers arms. But that was different and so long ago, before he really knew the satisfaction that power could bring. Power and control- he knew somewhere in his mind that he harbored an obsession with both- but never thought he could feel the urge to exercise them on a woman in that way. Until this moment. 

Oh, he had been suppressing certain unwanted feelings for the elf-woman for some time and he has been successful, so far, in not letting them stray into dangerous territory. But now, now, that she was against him, her body yielding softly to the unspoken command of his own, Raistlin found himself losing grip. Did he imagine the spark of lust in her grass-green elven eyes? A sign of an answering perverse desire to have him control her? How easily the fabric of her tunic would rip open under his tearing fingers, exposing her shivering skin. How easy to push her down onto her knees before him and... 

And what? Raistlin cut his trail of thought off abruptly, What do you truly propose to do with her? Growing increasingly more agitated at his body's inconvenient reaction, he pushed Silviana away from him with a snarl, cursing himself for being foolish. Desire? Him? What a terrible joke. In that moment he hated himself.

Caramon caught the woman up as she stumbled away from his brother just as Raistlin bent down to pick up the Staff. 

“You are not being fair Raist,” Caramon retorted while steadying Silviana on her feet and Raistlin was taken aback at the genuine note of reproof in his brother's voice. “It was Silviana's quick thinking that got us out of this mess in the first place. If anything you should be thanking her!”

Raistlin straightened and cleared his throat, anger subsiding. He felt momentary shame at having reacted in the way he did and annoyed at the fact that Caramon was right. They had freed him after all and temporarily subdued the enemy mage. The thought of how he reacted to Silviana holding his Staff made him feel slightly embarrassed. Licking his lips he looked over at the elf-woman searching for the right words. Yet, whatever apology he was going to offer never left his lips, for right at that second Scrounger's shrill voice intercepted their altercation.

“Ummm, it does not look like we are quite out of this mess yet,” the half- kender piped. 

Raistlin, Caramon and Silviana looked around them in tense anticipation. Every way that they looked, they were surrounded by armed men.


	9. Surrounded. A Desperate Plan.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raistlin, Car and Silviana have no choice but to join the outlaw camp and Raistlin must come up with a plan for escape.

Their issues forgotten in the face of impeding danger, Raistlin and Caramon fell into their natural battle stance, back to back. Caramon's broad sword was out, the big man adjusting his grip on the massive handle. Raistlin's hand sought out his belt pouch, instinctively rummaging through his magical components, the words to a dozen spells coming to his head, waiting to be summoned. To Caramon's left, Silviana hooked an arrow to her short bow, drawing the string tight and ready to shoot within a second should it be necessary. Not wasting time, Scrounger pulled out two long daggers to have them at the ready, having learned a while back that a sword was too awkward and unwieldy for his small frame.

Tension mounted as the four waited for an attack to be launched against them, but the bandits just watched them wearily, some holding bared swords and knives, others pointing drawn arrows and crossbows in their direction. There must have been well over fifty men there, all gruff and dangerous looking. Several moments of dense stillness passed before someone came forward. The man who stepped out into the clearing was tall and lanky, but no less imposing for it. He was covered in lean sculpted muscle and dressed in a strange assortment of baggy, miss-matched clothing. Shoulder length iron gray hair was held back by a black bandanna and his face, adorned by a neatly trimmed beard, was open and easy to smile. The man greeted them with a mock salute of his bastard sword.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted them, “and lady,” a small nod in Silviana's direction. “I am Terris Loft and these are my men,” He indicated the unsavory individuals gathered around him. “It appears that we have a bit of a problem.”

“I'd say,” Caramon growled, readjusting his grip on his sword.

“I consider myself a sensible man,” Terris continued ignoring Caramon's comment. “I don't know what that mad mage wanted with the four of you, but his business is not mine. I gotta say- I am impressed. I sent some men to check on the prisoners only to find the guards disposed of and the mage out of commission. Bravo.”

Terris walked bravely further out into the clearing, nonchalantly walking closer to the four friends, who wearily kept their guard up.

“What I think,” the bandit was saying, “is that there is no reason for us to fight. I could use the likes of you. The armies of the north are growing, ready to bring in a new era of domination. It is time for people to band together, so that we can carve ourselves a slice of the new world order.”

“And what can you tell us of this new world order?” Raistlin asked, thinking all the while that all this talk of eggs and armies and Kitiara had something in common. There was a linking thread in there somewhere but he had to hear more in order to figure out the connection.

“Raist, you don't actually...” Caramon started, but was cut off by Raistlin's heel stepping down hard on his own foot.

“Not now, brother,” the mage hissed.

“Ah, I see you are smart- which saves us trouble,” Terris was smiling broadly, pacing back and forth in front of them. “Because if you weren't, I would quite literally have to kill you. My position here is precarious. We mean to take Hope's End before winter, for as you can tell, it might be a little too cold for outdoor living by that point in time. Unfortunately, it means that anyone that could possibly get in the way and do something silly like... oh, inform legal authorities and get an assembled army to rout us out, can't be allowed to leave alive.”

“And seeing as there is so many of you and so little of us,” Silviana concluded, “You think it wise that we join you willingly.”

“Exactly, bright eyes,” Terris gave her a broad wink. “I tell you, I do not mind replacing old Blacksworth over there with two reds, especially when one of them is so pretty. Personally those blackrobes give me the creeps.”

Silviana started. She has taken to wearing gray and green ranger garb as a habit, with only a red sash to indicate her status as a mage. Not everyone caught on to the truth, although she did not hide it on purpose, but rather chose her clothing for comfort. Nevertheless, Terris noticing it so quickly unnerved her.

“We will not sell out our honor,” Caramon spat, “We will stand and fight-”

“What of the others?” Raistlin raised his voice to purposefully cut off his brother once more.

“The rest of your group,” Terris raised an eyebrow, “is back in the main encampment. Believe me when I say they did not choose the option where they all died. And please spare me the crap about honor. You are mercenaries for the sake of the Abyss.”

Caramon was about to reply. Silviana and Scrounger felt uncertain, lowering their weapons but keeping a tight hold on them just in case swift action was necessary. It was Raistlin who took control of the situation. He dropped his defensive posture and stepped forward slowly.

“We too shall take the option where no one dies,” he said in his quiet, venomous voice. His companions looked on at him in utter disbelief. Scrounger's mouth was hanging open.

“Raist...” Caramon began weakly but a deadly look from his twin made the big man go silent.

“We will go with you,” Raistlin came face to face with Terris, his golden eyes holding those of the outlaw leader intently.

“Good call, mage,” Terris' broad smile made an appearance once more, “I think this could be the beginnings of a great friendship.”

Together, the mage and the bandit made their way out of the clearing.

 

Lost for words, the rest of the group followed after Raistlin and Terris.

At the last moment, Silviana thought to look back to where she had last seen the unconscious black-robe and stifled a gasp. The mage was no longer there.

***

 

Raislin was getting increasingly more agitated and excited. The things he heard today from Blacksworth and Terris Loft were swarming around in his head, trying to fit together in a clear pattern. It was evident to him now that the entire siege of Hope's End was some sort of a cover, a distraction from a motive far deeper and darker than a rebelling township. Somewhere in the North there were armies amassing, presumably lead by someone named Ariakas. If Terris were to be believed, which was debatable, then these armies aimed for nothing less than the complete domination of Krynn. Somewhere in their midst was Kitiara, something Raistlin found plausible for he knew his sister had gone North to look for work. And most importantly, there was something located in the vicinity of Hope's End, in the mountains, that the Northern leader wanted desperately enough to have send two powerful wizards to claim in.

But what was it? Surely, there could not possibly be dragon-eggs. Everyone was taught that dragons never existed. Yet, Raistlin wasn't so sure about this. The implications were huge and he had to find out more. Which meant for the moment trying to get as much information from Terris and his deserter force as he could muster. He almost regretted Scrounger disposing of Blacksworth at the time that he did, for it stopped the black-robe from inadvertently giving Raistlin more clues as to what was happening. No matter, thought the young mage, given enough time I will learn what I want to learn- and come up with a plan to get us out of this situation. 

“I want to hear more about what is going on in the North,” Raistlin told Terris while they were walking towards the main encampment, going deeper and deeper into the woods. He felt there was no particular reason to try and ferret out information with manipulation in this case and that straight forwardness would serve him better.

“Tsk tsk,” Terris threw him a curious look, eyebrows lifting, “does no one know anything in the East?”

“I suppose we have been regrettably oblivious.”

“Well, that is for the best, my dear mage,” Terris shook a finger at Raistlin, “it would be hard to take over the world if everyone knew what you were up too. But don't fear- I will tell you what I know when I feel that I can trust you and yours.”

Thus Terris effectively terminated the conversation and a frustrated Raistlin was left thinking that perhaps straight forwardness was not the best approach after all.

When the four friends finally reached the main encampment of the bandits, they had to admit that they were impressed. Sturdy wooden shelters had sprung up in a perfectly placed little vale in the deepest part of the forest. A lively stream ran through the vale, providing a convenient source of drinking water. Most importantly, the vegetation around the area was so thick that it was impossible for any but the best woodsmen to easily locate a passage to the vale. It seemed unlikely that such a large force could be so easily hidden, but as Terris explained, there were a few dozen trained trackers among his group who were on constant duty to cover all signs of his men coming and going from their chosen place. As a diversion, a smaller camp was set up in another location, the very same Scrounger had stumbled upon, which acted as a decoy for anyone that may wish to find the culprits who have had Hope's End's supply trains ransacked and seized.

Raistlin had to admit it was all very clever.  
And it made getting out of there that much harder.

“The rest of your friends are over there,” Terris pointed to the spot squarely in the center of the camp, “which is where you will join them. The arrangement is a necessary precaution. Until all of you have proven yourselves trustworthy, you will remain where it is easiest to keep an eye on you and should you need to leave the main encampment you will be given an escort.”

With that he left the four to rejoin the rest of their mercenary troop.

Rudd and the rest of the company were sullen but otherwise unharmed. As soon as the magical darkness passed and they found themselves outnumbered and surrounded by the enemy they surrendered smartly. Although it chaffed at their nerves, none of them were willing to sacrifice their lives for this mission when there was no obvious way out.

“Well then it seems we all got out alive and unhurt,” Rudd spat at the ground disdainfully once the other four came over. A couple of the mercs eyed Raistlin and the rest with open suspicion. Were you in on this from the get go? Their eyes seemed to say.

“For all that's worth,” Raistlin said sardonically and sat down heavily, his back to a tree, eyes closed against the fading sunlight.

“Oh it's worth a great deal,” the one-eyed merc retorted with equal venom.

“Yes, I suppose so long as we are alive there is always a chance to extricate ourselves from this mess,” Raistlin's voice was necessarily quiet. He did not want the surrounding bandits to hear what he said, but at the same time wanted to give the others a hint as to what he was thinking.

The surrounding company at once became serious, all suspicion gone from their eyes. Caramon sighed in obvious relief, glad that his brother had something up his sleeve. Silviana exchanged dubious glances with Scrounger.

“And what is it you are implying, mage?” Rudd dropped his voice an octave, glancing around casually to make sure no one was paying any attention to their conversation.

“Just wait and see,” Raistlin retorted. “For now we need to buy time.”

“Hey you newbies over there- no whispering,” one of their captors circled over to their huddled group.

“Apologies,” Raistlin offered to the man, rising from the ground and looking over at Silviana. He extended a hand to her and gave her an expectant look.

Play along, it seemed to say. The elf-woman grabbed hold of Raistlin's slender hand and rose from where she sat cross legged on the ground.

“My colleague and I require a replenishment of herbs for our magic components,” he told the bandit, “if you would be so kind as to give us an escort?” Raistlin said the last word with obvious sarcasm and distaste.

“Yeah, right, herbs,” the gaunt man snickered, “I doubt that's what you want to do out there with the likes of her, but I won't question.” He motioned over three stocky individuals with the outward appearance of neanderthals, who bore an assortment of crude weapons ranging from maces to clubs and morning stars. “Stepin, Carfus, Troth- you go gander around in the woods with these two while they pick their herbs.” 

It was then that Raistlin's cough decided to strike with a vengeance, making the sickly young man double over in pain. Silviana caught him around the waist, steadying him while the spasm wracked his body. Once it passed, Raistin took a step back, not entirely disentangling himself from Silviana's supportive grip. One hand came up to slowly wipe off the trickle of blood from the corners of his mouth.

“I feel weak,” Raistlin rasped breathlessly, “let me lean on you while we walk.”

“Of course,” Silviana was startled by this request, realizing immediately that the mage was up to something. Twining her arm through his and offering her shoulder for support, Silviana began to walk down a barely noticeable path into the thick of the woods. Their armed escort followed closely on their heels.

 

***

“You see the properties of marjoram are peculiar,” Raistlin was saying whilst he was rotating the herb in question between his delicate fingers. They sat cross legged side by side in a tiny clearing some twenty minute walk from the main encampment. Their three guards were leaning up against the surrounding trees, spread out some forty feet away from where Raistlin and Silviana examined wild herbs. “It is both a mild sedative when mixed with morning glory seeds and a stimulant when mixed with night shade. The former elixir is optimal for inducing visionary dreams and the latter for inducing energy and sustaining alertness for days.”

Silviana knew all this and her patience was slowly waning. By the gods, Raistlin knew that she knew and yet he insisted on giving a full account of every herb and flower in painfully meticulous detail. She stifled a yawn, noticing Stepin, Carfus and Troth doing the same thing at the edge of the clearing. Raistlin had been going on like this for the better part of an hour and it occurred to Silviana that if he kept it up in same manner he would be putting them all to sleep.

To sleep! Of course, he wants them to grow weary and bored and stop paying us any heed! The realization swept through her like wildfire and Silviana ordered herself to remain focused, at once watching Raistlin's hands as they handled the herbs and plants and keeping an eye on the increasingly drowsy guardsmen.

Another quarter of an hour passed before the eyelids of the three surrounding them began to droop steadily, and one of the party began to snore peacefully.

“And then of course we have rosemary,” Raistlin grasped Silviana's hand making her look up into his eyes, he took that moment to lean over closer, lips nearly brushing the elf-woman's ear. “There is no sedative quite like boredom," Raistlin breathed, "I will talk quickly. Our only way out is to wait for the next robbery back on the highway. We must all go with the company and participate in the ambush." His words were barely audible and from the side it looked awfully like Raistlin was trying to playfully nuzzle her neck.

One of the guards, Carfus opened his eyes and regarded them with renewed suspicion.

“In large quantities and mixed with a strong dose of saffron and dragon's eye it becomes one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs known to man.” Raistlin said aloud to appease to wary bandit.

“Master Majere, are you proposing we attempt to make this concoction?” Silviana played along, making her voice easily heard and laced it with non-to-fake excitement. As much as she detested their current predicament, she enjoyed that it created the necessity for the two of them to be this close together.

Carfus smirked loudly, his suspicion momentarily alleviated.

“I do,” Raistlin's voice took on an unfamiliar, purring note, “I believe we are about to have weeks of tedium on our hands with nothing but experimentation with various... herbs to look forward too.”

Following that statement, Raistlin promptly grabbed her about the waist and pulled her unto his lap, making Silviana gasp in amazement. One of his hands pulled her head down against his, making her abundant hair fall forward hiding their faces from view. At once he began whispering frantically again with Silviana trying hard to pay attention to his words and not the heat of his breath on her skin.

In seconds he told her the rest of his plan, quick words hissed into her ear beneath the cover of their twined hair.

“Oh, Raistlin! Not here,” Silviana squealed for added effect.

“That's it that's it,” came Stepin's gruff voice and the guard came over to them, placing a rough palm on Silviana's shoulder and pulling her off of Raistlin. “It seems you have gathered enough herbs. If you want to play you can do it back at camp. I'll even show you the good spots myself,” he gave Raistlin a wink.

The mage got to his feet and glared at Stepin hard enough to make the man take an involuntary step back.

“I suppose you are right,” Raistlin gave an exasperated sigh. He put his hand on the small of Silviana's back and gave her a light push ahead. “We will finish our talk of herb lore somewhere more comfortable.”

Raistlin and Silviana exchanged one more brief glance of acknowledgement, the elf-woman giving a barely noticeable nod to show that she knew what was expected of her from here on.

Their escorts once more at their backs, the two made their way slowly back to Terris' camp.


	10. Interlude.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang at the outlaw camp. Super angsty. A confrontation with Raistlin triggers Silviana's memories of Qualinost, alluding to the reason she really left and her elicit love affair.

Implementing Raistlin's plan turned out to be a more difficult task than expected. The crux of the operation relied upon being able to have the majority of Langtree's mercenaries part-take in one of the caravan ambushes among the main road. Terris Loft, however, was clever enough not to have that happen. He selected the men for the missions himself and normally went out with them. Just to test his new recruits' determination, he would occasionally choose several of the men from the Langtree group to join- but never the whole lot of them. And never Raistlin or Silviana.

“No use to have anybody aware of the fact that I got me some mages under my belt. Even old Blacksworth never came out with us except when it came down to capturing you lot,” he said with his damnable laugh, when an increasingly frustrated Raistlin attempted to get at the root of the problem. “I realize you must be bored, but wait until we take Hope's End- you'll have plenty to do then.”

To make matters worse, less and less caravans were coming by way of the forest route, the dangers of which were becoming common knowledge for the local folk who, it became apparent, were devising new ways to reach the city. Yet the spy network which operated under the command of Loft and brought him information regarding incoming merchant trains was extensive and efficient. Whenever someone did choose to brave the forest road, Terris knew well in advance and the goods never made it past his conveniently orchestrated ambush. Which, of course, cleared up the matter of how the Langtree mercenaries were caught so completely off guard.

As it were, things were stagnating. Days bled tediously into weeks until the last dregs of summer slowly released their grip upon the land and the consistent chill of autumn set in for good. The only bright side to their situation was that the longer the Langtree group remained among Loft's encampment, the more the bandits dropped their guard and the mercenaries were able to talk and act more freely. Very slowly Raistlin's plan was being passed among the company, first to Rudd, who -still the unofficial leader- gave his gruff approval, and then from one man to the next. There was no objection from anyone- none of the men had any desire to attack the very town that months ago they had helped rescue. Whatever the case with other mercenaries, the men of the baron of Langtree did, in fact, have a sense of honor. To alleviate suspicion, the men began to intermingle with Loft's outlaws, sharing fireside drinks and stories. Nobody, however, tried to interact with the goblins and hobgoblins who were a minor division within this unofficial army. Those kept apart from everyone, taking over the far left side of their woodland encampment.

Raistlin too kept apart from everyone else, their long period of inactivity reflecting badly on his health. He had noticed some time ago that he did not seem to feel quite as wretched when he was actively engaged with an assignment. But several days, let along weeks, of a sedimentary existence almost completely incapacitated him. His cough grew worse and worse until even simply breathing aggravated his lungs. Silviana too noticed this, her heart clenching painfully in her chest as she watched his thin body shake and shudder under the weight of his ailment. It made things worse that since their play acting in the clearing whilst picking herbs, Raistlin blatantly avoided her and all her attempts to ease his pain were sarcastically spurned.

One time during the night when a particularly bad spasm seized him, Silviana hardened her resolve and went to sit by him, placing a palm on one of his thin shoulders as he lay curled on his side.

“Raistlin, I think that you should let me see what I can do. After all this is the entire reason I am here in the first place,” she stated softly, her voice barely audible over the crackling of a nearby fire.

The response was not anything Silviana was prepared for and she had thought that she had already seen Raistlin in foul moods before. The young mage sat up and threw her hand off so violently that Silviana gasped. He then gave her a sharp push away from him, making her fall backwards on the ground.

“I don't need you! Do you understand? You can't do anything for me,” Raistlin hissed with unprecedented viciousness. “Now tell my oaf of a brother to get over here and make me that brew so I can finally get some sleep!”

Silviana realized that she was sobbing hard, but in the moment she forgot to feel embarrassed about it.

“I can make the brew for you,” she managed to get out through her tears.

“No not you, just get Caramon and get out of my sight.”

Silviana bolted from him, barely able to contain her overflowing anguish. She ran to her own spot on the other side of the campfire and flung herself on her cot, throwing a thick blanket over her head and biting her clenched fist hard to muffle the sound of her desperate cries. Unchecked tears streamed fiercely down her cheeks. Again, she chided herself, I did it again. I should have learned not to love the first time- but it is always the same with me. I want what I cannot have as though I am addicted to being rejected.

Silviana had felt herself grow steadily in confidence ever since this journey began. For the first time she felt like she was somehow being of use to others. But this- Raistlin banishing her from him in such a manner- ripped away all the emotional strength she had managed to grow within herself. At once she felt herself revert back into the same fidgety and nervous young woman, the one that could stare out the window for hours dreaming of a wider world she was not a part of. She felt a fool now for ever wanting to join it- for ever leaving the Tower of Wayreth. Yes, she had been restless and bored there... but better to be restless and bored than to once more feel her heart break against the walls of another cold, cruel man.

Unbidden and unwanted, the memories of Qualinost came back to her...

_... the chrysanthemums flourished freely in the gardens surrounding the Citadel of the Sun and the residence of the royal family beside it. Several elven children ran through the lush grass, laughing abundantly. Two little girls, one with shining golden hair and one with wavy, lustrous brown fell tangled in a heap beside an exquisite fountain depicting two slender wood nymphs, back to back. The girls were flushed and excited, loosely holding their arms around one another as they laughed gaily._

_“Laurana nooo, I can't – I can't,” the brunette was gasping through her giggles._

_“Yes, yes- you must! I found you and caught you which means you must do what I dare you to do, Silvi!” Laurana sat up in the grass and tugged the other girl's hair playfully. Three more elf children gathered around the two girls._

_“What's this, Silviana does not except the dare?” A fair-haired boy who resembled Laurana was saying with exaggerated shock. “That is against the rules of the game!”_

_Silviana wrinkled her nose comically._

_“I just don't want to do THAT dare-oh please Laurana, can you not choose something else?”_

_“Nope- it is my choice since I won the last round- and I say you must do it!”_

_“You must do it, you must do it!” the other children chanted gaily._

_Resigned, Silviana stood up from the ground and brushed out the wrinkles from her sturdy green dress. Already she could feel the flush of embarrassment coloring her fair cheeks._

_“I suppose if I must,” she mumbled under her breath and a round of applause broke out among the other children. In a group, they ran noiselessly towards a short wall which separated the public garden from the private, inner garden belonging to the royal family. Picking a seemly apple tree which had sturdy branches that reached over the stone wall and a thick canopy to hide the culprits, the children climbed stealthily up its winding trunk and positioned themselves to be able to see inside the inner garden._

_There, surrounded by rose bushes of the rarest variety, another elven boy sat rigidly on a marble bench, bending over a large book in his lap. He was about thirteen years of age, which was about four years older than the rest of the children and he lacked entirely their liveliness and playful enthusiasm. Dark haired and somber, he carried himself as though he was at his tender age already above all the frivolities of youth._

_Laurana gave Silviana a small push from the back and whispered:_

_“Come on- get going before he notices us.”_

_Holding her breath Silviana slowly began to climb through the branches until she was level with the other side of the wall, at which point she threw caution to the wind and jumped noisily down in front of the dark haired boy._

_“What in the name of Paladine,” the boy swore by the name of their long departed deity as he noticed the younger girl suddenly fall from somewhere up above him, her hair and dress hopelessly disheveled. “Silviana, you look a mess- I am sure your mother would not be impressed.” He locked his serious gray eyes on hers and she felt the tips of her pointed ears begin to burn under his disapproving gaze._

_“Oh, Porthios you are such a drag,” she said, throwing up her hands to hide her embarrassed state. She then plopped herself down on the marble bench next to him, distinctly aware that somewhere above in the tree her playmates were holding their breath. “Whatcha reading?” She reached for the book on his lap._

_“'The Codex of Elven Law, circa 450 before the Cataclysm',” Porthios angrily snapped the book shut, “What are you doing here- you are not supposed to be within the inner garden!”_

_“That sounds awfully boring,”Silviana scrunched up her face, not understanding why anyone wanted to study outdated elven law on such a lovely spring afternoon. “As for what I am doing here...”_

_She took a deep breath and grabbed his face between two hands, pulling him down to her and locking her lips on his. Porthios was in such a state of shock that he forgot to pull away and several long seconds passed before Silviana let him go and bounded off the bench and out of his reach. At once a chorus of uncontrollable laughter came from above them, accompanied by several apples tossed at Porthios's head from the upper branches of the tree._

_Silviana herself could barely stifle the hilarity she felt at the look of pure indignation on Porthios' face._

_“My sister put you up to this didn't she?” He turned on Silviana in a rage, arms raised to shield himself from the rain of falling apples- but Silviana was already scrambling back over the wall, nimble hands grasping firmly the overhanging branches of the tree. Back on the other side, Silviana was joined by her friends, who quickly ushered her away from the wall._

_“Hurry, hurry, he is in such a state,” Laurana was saying gleefully, grabbing Silviana by the hand as the elven children ran quickly toward the furthest part of the public garden..._

_... there are those to whom love comes gradually in the form of friendship that eventually blossoms into something more. This was not the case with Silviana. When she did love it was instantaneous- although not realized at the same speed. Yet when she kissed Porthios under the overhanging branches of the apple tree she had known that she had loved him from the start. Loved him and could not have him. Friendship was encouraged among all classes of elven society- but only the highest ranking nobility could expect to be romantically involved with members of the royal house. And Porthios was the heir to the Speaker of the Suns, destined to one day be the ruler of the Qualinesti elves._

_Of course, she tried to ignore it and repress it, but she was a member of House Mystic which, if not noble, was nevertheless high ranking enough for their paths to cross on a regular basis. Sometimes they would come upon each other in the public gardens or the library and sit reading together for long hours. A certain type of comfortable familiarity emerged between them and the hours of reading would generate hours of discussion. There were times when Silviana caught him looking at her over the edge of some book, his usually severe gaze seeming somehow softer. She pretended like she did not notice and years went by._

_Porthios never exposed her and the other children for that childish prank. Nor did he ever mention that silly kiss to Silviana, for which she was especially grateful._

_Then, one evening, during a ball hosted in honor of the summer Solstice, they danced together. It was the biggest event of the elven calendar, as it represented the longest day and shortest night of the year- a celebration of the sun in all its glory. All of Qualinost was ablaze with magical lights, suspended in the branches of the blooming trees by mages of House Mystic. Crowds overran the streets of the city as dozens of musicians played merry tunes on a myriad of tinkling instruments. The nobles and the common folk mingled and danced freely together._

_Silviana and Laurana spun around together amid the other rejoicing elves, when Silviana spotted Porthios alone and grim, leaning against a tree away from the festive crowd. Seeing him she stopped suddenly and Laurana followed her gaze._

_“He is so sullen and never dances!” The golden haired princess observed with regret. Although she never said anything to her friend, she knew of Silviana's feelings, seeing on countless occasions her face light up at the sight of Porthios. Just like the day of the dare, Laurana gave Silviana a light push._

_“Go on! Go ask him to dance- I am sure he would for you!”_

_Silviana pushed through the throng of dancing revelers just as the beat of the drums turned wild and loud, filling her head and body with unusual certainty. Reaching Porthios at the tree she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the street._

_“Come dance!”She exclaimed._

_“Dancing is such a waste of time-” Porthios protested weakly, nevertheless letting her pull him along._

_“Then why did you come out at all? You could have stayed in the palace,” Silviana chided. They were now in the middle of the street, surrounded by sound, light and festivity. The rhythm of the drums was growing more urgent and insistent, taking over all senses. Against all odds, Porthios found himself grasping Silviana tightly around the waist, going through the steps of the dance and moving to the raging music around them. His answer to her question was lost in the noise and whatever it was Silviana did not want to hear it anyway. She just wanted to dance._

_And dance they did, well into the night. They danced until they were tired and worn and soaked with sweat and then danced more just for good measure. Somewhere amid the primal beat of music, Porthios lost composure and Silviana saw him laugh, truly laugh for the first time. The magic lights shining in the trees reflected in his eyes like stars and there was happiness there too and genuine affection. Pressed tight against him, Silviana could feel the straining hardness of his phallus and realized with a shock that his body was responding to hers with desire._

_Porthios too realized this and as soon as he fully comprehended what had happened his face turned hard and impassive. He looked upon Silviana with something close to outrage and slowly pushed her away with cool civility, so as not to draw attention from anyone in the crowd of dancers. She wanted to pull him back to her but was afraid of causing a scene and so let him melt away slowly into the darkness of the trees. Her triumphant air did not leave her even then- his body did not lie, he wanted her. Bidding her time, Silviana danced with several other partners before politely excusing herself and merging with the forest in the same manner Porthios had done._

_Once she was out of sight of the festive street, Silviana hiked her gown up around her knees and ran along a well known path toward the public gardens. Somehow, she had a feeling that she knew where to find Porthios. Before she knew it, she was in front of the short wall separating the inner garden. The moon was full and she could see perfectly the apple tree with its branches spreading out to the other side. There were no sentries or servants on duty on the night of the Solstice- everyone would be out celebrating until the first rays of the sun appeared on the horizon._

_Silviana climbed the tree as agilely as she did when she was a child, neatly making her way across the wall and jumping down among the rose bushes. She was right, he was there. On that very marble bench where years ago she gave him a kiss on a dare. He was hunched over, his head in his hands, long black hair hiding his face. He did not look up when she landed on the ground in front of him, knowing, just as she had known where to find him, that she would come._

_“We can't do this, Silviana,” Porthios' voice was harsh and shaky which was distinctly unlike him. “You know it is forbidden, you are not of high enough rank.”_

_“I know,” Silviana whispered, “I know and yet I want you.” She was daring, so much more daring than she usually was._

_Porthios choked on a bitter laugh and looked up at her. His eyes held incalculable anger; anger at himself for wanting her, anger at her for making him want her._

_“Well I don't want you! Do you hear? I don't want you,” he said it almost hysterically, trying to convince himself._

_Silviana hung her head and nodded._

_“Alright then I apologize,” she turned away from him, feeling despair begin to hit her and wanting to leave before she cried. She reached her arms up to grasp the upper branches of the tree and pull herself over the wall once more._

_That's when she felt his arms come around her from behind in a hard embrace. She gasped, letting go instantly of the branch, and leaned into him as he pulled them both down unto the soft grass._

_“I don't want you,” he was still saying. Yet he was hard, so hard against her._

_“I don't want you,” Silviana found herself turned over roughly to lie on her belly, with Porthios' weight pressing down on top of her. She was panting, sick with her desire, as she felt his hands slide feverishly up her legs, pulling her skirt up over her hips and leaving her exposed._

_“I don't want you,” he said through clenched teeth, his mouth kissing and licking the back of her bare shoulder then nipping the nape of her neck._

_“I don't want you,” his hand was prying open his breeches and there was a temporary pause in his ravaging as he pulled himself out and positioned himself at her opening. Silviana's hands clenched grass as she stilled herself for this intrusion, earth digging underneath her nails. Her face was very close to a rose bush, one full and fragrant blossom brushing her cheek gently under the light of the moon._

_“I don't want you,” Porthios said a final time as he slid himself inside her, both of them stifling moans of long denied pleasure._

_Silviana did not believe him..._

 

... Silviana pulled herself together before the other memories, the truly hurtful ones surfaced. What she hung on to was the memory of Porthios' face , full of emotion and his voice, so unconvincingly telling her that he did not want her. She wondered why that particular memory stuck out the most.

Then it struck her. Raistlin saying that he did not need her. Porthios repeating over and over that he did not want her. It was one and the same- a resentment of unhinging desire; an attempt to deny the obvious. Which meant, of course, that...

“He does want me,” Silviana whispered to herself and smiled sadly. But why push her away? What happened with Porthios was inevitable and his later actions, if cruel, were at least understandable. And Raistlin.. Raistlin was different. It must have something to do with his deeply ingrained self- loathing, as well as, his obsession with his magic and control, Silviana decided.

Well, she wasn't fool enough to try and fix it. She had had her fill of anguish at Porthios' hands once their lengthy liaison was discovered and he began to treat her with utmost contempt. If Raistlin was going to punish her for the fact that he was not indifferent to her, then she would just have to retain a professionally cool demeanor and show him that it was only friendship that mattered to her. Perhaps this tension would subside and in time they could be comfortable with one another again like they had been at the beginning of the journey.

Silviana sat up and wiped her eyes and face, remembering then that Raistlin had asked for Caramon. With an effort, the elf-woman got to her feet and set out in search of the big warrior.

Separated from her by the fire, Raistlin watched Silviana get up from her cot and begin to slowly move among the mostly sleeping men. He had to admit that he did not anticipate her reaction. He had expected anger and a blatant retort akin to those he usually received from her in similar circumstances. He had not expected such excruciating pain behind her slanted eyes, nor her tears.

Raistlin was not sure if he felt guilty or disgusted at this display of weakness. He had to admit to himself that he had reacted rather more harshly than he normally would have, which annoyed him, as he found himself lashing out more and more at her as of late. Raistlin thought of himself as normally fairly composed and detached, not counting his jibes at Caramon. The fact that this woman was making a jumbled mess of his emotions was starting to really bother him. Her fidgety nature and her concern were an irritant to him, yet he admired her persistence and the steely confidence he saw in her when she was backed into a corner. On top of that, she was truly beautiful- a fact that he could see despite his cursed eyes since her elven youth did not decay under their gaze.

He did not want to want her, however, lashing out at her only proved that he did not have a grasp on his emotions. That decided Raistlin; he would keep himself under control and not give into the anger he felt as a response to the electric currents she sent spiraling through him at the barest touch.

At that moment Caramon and Silviana came into view, the elf-woman holding his brother by the elbow. Caramon looked especially downcast. This whole situation was taking a greater toll on him than the rest. Being the strongest of Loft's new recruits, the big warrior was sent out on all the caravan ambushes since their capture along with Terris' men. He managed to avoid killing anybody, not perceiving the enterprise as an honorable one, but the fact that he was there at all really lay heavy on his soul.

“Silvi said that you wanted some tea made, Raist?” Caramon said with a trace of lingering sadness in his voice, his eyes avoiding Raistlin's.

Raistlin cleared his throat.

“If you don't mind, brother...” he said without a trace of usual rancor.

“Of course,” Caramon actually appeared heartened by the small task and walked away in search of a pot of water.

Silviana sat cross legged near Raistlin. The fire beside them had burned down to embers.

Raistlin cleared his throat again. If he had to do this thing, he might as well get it over with.

“I want to...apologize for my recent behavior. I do not want to interfere with your work and what you have been sent to do here. But I find it hard to accept help and my poor health has a foul impact on my mood,” He said quietly.

Silviana smiled warmly, all traces of anguish gone from her grass-green eyes.

“It's alright, Raistlin... I think I understand,” she replied. “Does that mean you'll let me see what I can do to relieve your pain?”

“I suppose so,” Raistlin shrugged noncommittally. He then thought of something else he had to say.

“Silviana, I hope you understand that my behavior out there in the clearing... with the herbs, was a point of necessity and that I do not mean anything by it.”

Strangely, her smile faltered for a split second.

“Of course Raistlin,” she said softly. “I did not presume that you would ever want too..”

“No I would not,” he put in shortly as she trailed off, feeling embarrassed. Just then Caramon came back, carrying a steaming mug with Raistlin's medicine. The young mage thought he never felt so relieved to see his brother.

“Here you go, Raist,” Caramon handed his twin the mug, which the other accepted promptly.

“Thank you,” Raistlin said with such genuine feeling that Caramon was taken aback. Pleasantly surprised, the big warrior took a seat next to his brother and Silviana and heaved a great, heavy sigh.

“Raist, I do not think I can take much more of this,” Caramon was saying. “This is not honest work and the people we have to rob... well they are just innocent folk. It isn't fair!”

“I know brother, I know,” Raistlin was for once in no mood to be sarcastic. He too was growing weary of this game. He looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. Satisfied he leaned over closer to his companions. “What we need is a way to get all of us in on the ambush so that we can implement the plan..” Raistlin trailed off, his eyes falling unto one of the large cauldrons used to brew soup for the camp. The young mage chuckled to himself. Of course, it was really all so simple...

“What is it Raist?” Caramon followed his twin's gaze, but could not figure out what the other was looking at.

“Caramon... there are thirty men who get taken to ambush. Fifteen of those are regulars that go no matter what. The other fifteen rotate. Who are the men that always go?”

Caramon scratched his head, thinking hard and named off Loft's favorite cronies, while Raistlin nodded pensively. Silviana leaned in closer to the two brothers, her interest peaked. A thrill of adrenaline rushed through her, making her forget her earlier distress.

“What we have to do is make sure that those fifteen are too incapacitated to go into an ambush so that Terris has no choice but to take us.”

“What are you thinking, Raist?”

Raistlin looked over at Silviana,

“How much powdered mandrake do you have left?” He asked her.

“Quite a bit still why do you...” she followed his eyes and stared at the soup cauldron. She knew then what he implied. “That's risky, how would we...?”

“Leave that bit to me,” Raistlin reassured her.

Caramon was looking over from his brother to the elf-woman.

“I don't understand,” the big man said sulkily.

“Let's just say brother,” a note of familiar exasperation was back in Raistlin's voice, “that the morning of the next raid, the bulk of Terris' force will be down with a very serious stomach illness they will all assume is food poisoning.”

Raistlin smiled a rather nasty smile, feeling infinitely better.


	11. Plan in Action Part 1.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is finally time to execute their plan and get the hell away from these outlaws. Raistlin has hidden motives of his own.

The goblins and hobgoblins kept strictly away from the main body of Terris' vagabonds and that suited everybody just fine- especially Raistlin. He kept his sly eye towards what was going on in both camps and saw the hardly disguised hostility hidden behind the deformed snouts of the hobs and the hard, suspicious glances of the men. One evening, a particularly nasty brawl broke out among the bandits as a younger man tripped on his way back from fetching stream water and knocked over a hob commander eating his meal.

“You hideless scum!” spittle formed on the hob's- Commander Torf's- nuzzle as he picked up the shivering young man by the scruff. “You made me spill my soup and now I will go hungry this evening! Perhaps I should chop off those useless prongs you call legs and have myself a meal?”

The youth was wriggling frantically in the hob's grip. An older man sitting by a nearby fire got up slowly, loosening his sword in its scabbard as he did so.

“Let the boy go, Torf and pick on someone your own size for a change,” the man growled threateningly, boredom making him itch for a fight.

The great hobgoblin released the youth, pushing the scrambling fellow roughly out of the way.

“Looking for a scuffle Brendaun?” Torf spat nastily at the ground and grabbed the handle of his double- edged battle axe.

“With the likes of you? Always,” Brendaun's sword was out completely in a flash and the hob barely had enough time to lift his buckler up for defence before the taller warrior was upon him. Yet Torf was not a green soldier and recovered quickly from the attack bringing around the elbow of the buckled arm and aiming it hard into Brendaun's side. The warrior jumped back and the blow barely glanced him. The two opponents now took a good measure of each other, bracing their legs hard into the ground, hands gripping their weapons, they began to circle one another. A circle formed quickly around them, with the hobs and gobs backing up their leader while the restless men took their places behind Brendaun. Cheers were going up and somewhere in the background a call for bets was taking place.

The excitement did not last long as Terris Loft came slowly into the clearing, his pinched face grimacing with obvious disgust. At the sight of him, the cheers of the mob quickly died and the two combatants shifted their weapons uncertainly.

“Break this up you two!” Loft did not have to raise his voice, it passed easily through the hushed crowd. “I do not care what the lot of you do to one another once we have taken Hope's End. Until that time has come, we will remain unified for the greater cause. I realise there has not been a caravan in a while and you are growing restless,” here the outlaw grinned broadly, the firelight shining on his silver stubble. “But I have good news, friends! Our spies have reported a great and armed delegation heading towards the main road. By early morning tomorrow they will be in a strategic place for an ambush and we will get to have some fun, boys, what do you say?”

At this, a great cheer once more broke out among the crowd. Terris continued smiling.

“Brendaun- put away the sword and come with me. You too Delgo and Maurice- we must make plans for tomorrow!”

The three men approached their leader. At this the hobgoblin leader regained composure and a hint of spite and malice lit his ugly face.

“Loft!” he roared approaching the bandit leader hastily. When the ungainly creature reached the tall man a tense silence once again fell upon the camp. “You always leave my men behind- I wonder how you expect me to stick around when I think you are ripping me off my share of the spoils,” Torf winced maliciously.

Terris did not budge.

“After what happened last time we decided to take your troops to ambush I think it is best we do not attempt that again until Hope's End.”

Torf looked like he was about to argue, but taking a closer glance at Terris decided against it and reluctantly moved aside for the men to pass on their way towards their own camp fire.

In the shadows, Raistlin waited, having watched the whole thing from the beginning and awaiting his time to act. As soon as Terris and the other three men moved far enough out of view, the slender mage detached himself from the dark cover of the autumn trees and quietly followed the angered hobgoblin who was hissing none-to- silent oaths under his breath. Not having much else to do in camp, Torf moved on towards his tent, muttering all the while about stinking men and money owed. When he reached his tent and moved beyond the flap into its confines, Raistlin was right behind him.

Mumbling under his breath about filthy humans and rummaging through his belongings kept the hob busy for several minutes during which he remained unaware of the skulking mage. Finally, Raistlin got tired of waiting and cleared his throat nonchalantly. Torf jumped in the air and spun around with agility surprising in one possessing such great bulk. Several rolls of greyish fat bounced, as a result, morbidly protruding from the commander's mismatched armour. Seeing the wizard, the hob squinted his piggish eyes suspiciously.

“You! Mage,” he barked menacingly, “what do you want here?”

Raistlin put on his most gracious face and made a small bow in the hobgoblin's direction. A sly smile played across his gaunt features.

“I have been waiting for a chance to speak with you for some time,” Raistlin replied in his whispering voice. “I think it best to keep our chat a secret from Terris Loft.”

A spark of interest crossed Torf's fat face and he grinned back nastily.

“And what would you say to me, magic user?”

“Only that I find it unfair that such well-seasoned men as yours are kept on the sidelines while the rest take the better part of the loot,” Raistlin shrugged his thin shoulders.

“And what's it to you?” Torf looked slightly less suspicious now, all hobgoblins being fools for flattery.  
“As you have noticed, I too have been held back,” Raistlin continued, “and to be frank, I grow weary of being denied part of the loot while the rest of the men grow rich from spoils.”

Torf hobbled over to a large chair in the center of his tend, sitting down with a great heave and observing Raistlin with curiosity. The chair buckled and squeaked in protest under the tremendous weight.

“You heard Terris tonight,” The hobgoblin said gruffly, “we will get to see plenty of action and loot once we mobilise to take Hope's End.”

“Oh, I do not think so... at least not from what I hear.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Let's just say I overheard Terris and his men talking about their actual plan for the invasion of the city and it is not the same as what he would have us- or you- believe.”

“Well don't just stand there leering like a shmuck- spill the beans?” Torf was losing his patience.

This was the moment Raistlin was waiting for.

“After tomorrow's ambush this company is preparing to take the city at last- before the snows begin,” Raistlin licked his lips and held a dramatic pause for emphasis. “But first they will take out the trash and slaughter your hobs and gobs because surprise, surprise- bandits don't like to share.”

That was not the case, considering the hobs comprised a good third of the entire bandit force. However, Raistlin played upon the commander's suspicious nature and brewing anger to convince him of what he wanted.  
Torf was up from his chair in a spitting rage. The abused piece of furniture fell to the floor with a loud noise of protest.

“That filthy piece of man flesh!” The hob screamed, “why I would... I would....”

“May I propose a plan of action?” Raistlin intervened smoothly.

“And what's in it for you, mage?”

“Let us just say that Loft's tent is overflowing with the treasure he has wrongfully kept back from you,” Raistlin pulled a hand out of his pocket, showing Torf a palm full of multicoloured gems. The jewels caught the light of an oil lamp and began to glow brilliantly.

Torf caught his breath and hobbled over to the mage licking his lips and bending over the gems with an outstretched hand.

“A-a-a-” Raistlin waved a finger of his free hand in the hobs fat face. “Finders keepers. You may look but no touching. There is plenty more where this came from. However, the jewels interest me little. I know there are some magic artefacts among the hoard which I wish to claim as my reward for the help.”

Torf snickered.

“Magic users are always power hungry- however, I am sure we could be of use to one another. What do you propose?”

“I will drug the soup rations tonight- the majority of Terris' men will be afflicted with a terrible stomach ache tomorrow morning. Which will mean that he will have no choice but to take my men with him to the ambush. Once the caravan has been taken, my men will overwhelm Terris and anyone loyal to him. At the same time your men should take the camp. Forget Hope's End. Why waste your lives when you can have treasure enough to live comfortably and not lick the heels of some pathetic human?”

“Simple yet efficient,” Torf rubbed his chin in satisfaction, picked up the knocked over chair and plumped his heavy body back into the seat. “I like the way you think wizard- how will we know when the time has come to take the camp?”

“The elf-girl will be with the men going to the ambush- once Terris has been dispatched she will set off a flare that will signal us to action over here. There is only one more thing I require of you, commander.”

“And that is?”

“Loft has been reluctant to reveal what he knows about the Northern armies. I want to know what is going on up there.”

It is true that after their initial capture the outlaw leader had been careful not to speak much more about the armies.

Torf, however, was more than enticed to be indulgent.

After learning what he needed to know, the young mage exited the tent carefully, making sure to look around for anyone that might see him leave before he sank into the shadows of the trees. Raistlin fingered the glass baubles in his pocket and smirked to himself. So easy to fool those who want to be fooled with a bit of glamour magic. His hand then moved from the baubles to the full pouch of powdered mandrake root under the fold of his robe and his smirk deepened. It was good to finally be active after weeks of stagnation.

Raistlin reached the main camp and caught sight of Silviana. The elf-girl sat near the edge of the clearing on the far side of the camp from him, exactly where they agreed she would be when he came back from Torf's tent. She sat cross-legged, her journal propped open on her lap, chin resting lightly on the palm of her hand. Her loose, wavy hair spilling over her shoulder hiding her face in shadow and the campfire coloured it a warm, honey amber. For a second, Raistlin's caught his breath, allowing himself to admire the beauty that was so rare for him to see. The next second, Silviana was looking up, eyes scanning the trees in search of him. Once their gazes met across the glade he nodded to her briefly and disappeared back into the forest.

Silviana got up from her spot and loosened her own pouch of mandrake. Proceeding silently she approached the soup cauldron closest to her and dropped a handful drugs into the boiling brew when no one was looking. Somewhere on the other side of camp, Raistlin was doing the same thing.

***

The following morning started with a bang and a prolonged sound of retching that, amplified by the quiet of dawn, awoke the entire camp.

Brendaun, having stumbled in delirium and knocked over a cauldron, was now heaving into the remnants of spilled stew.

“Bloody Abyss!” The lank-haired warrior bellowed hoarsely. “What confounded fiends wrecked havoc upon my stomach last night?”

All around him, others were rising to see what the commotion was. Several bandits grew green upon gaining their feet and, grabbing at their own bellies, fell back on the ground. A collective sound of puking and swearing ensued as more and more men found themselves hopelessly sick upon waking. In no time, the ground was covered with bile and writhing figures.

“What is going on here?” Terris Loft called out, running toward the center of the grisly scene and minding his boots. “Brendaun, what happened?”

The man, now lying on his back and shaking uncontrollably, caught Loft's eye with his feverish ones.

“The sweating sickness is upon us!” Brendaun murmured, “the wrath of the gods is laying waste to our forces!”

“'The wrath of the gods?'” Terris was in a fury, “You are delirious man! Get up the lot of you!”

The command had no effect on the ill men. Those of Loft's bandits who had evaded the effects of Raistlin's poison shuffled over uneasily, weapons clasped uncertainly in hand. The overall impact was devastating. Nearly all of the strongest members of the group were rendered useless, slumped in shapeless lumps all over the encampment. Among them were Loft's fifteen chosen cronies, the ones he trusted most. Of some two hundred men, a mere fifty seemed fit for battle.

“The caravan is drawing near and the lot of you do not have the experience of my usual men!” Loft spat at the ground, only one thing in mind, “With Brendaun and the rest out of commission there is not much time to reorganise and prepare, unless...”

His quick eyes darted toward Raistlin's group. The mercenaries from Hope's End sat against a large oak tree, not having drawn near when Loft called his summons. They rarely went out as a group together, although Caramon was usually picked to go on the excursions. Now Loft, desperate for his plan to proceed, approached them with a feverish glare.

Silviana caught her breath and tried not to look anxious, her hands knotted into tight fists under her cloak. Last night's skulking mission had deeply affected the girl's nerves. The encampment was a vast one, many of the tents hidden among the trees. There were over a hundred large cauldrons in all for preparing the stews. With any less preparation, their plan would have failed easily. But they have had weeks now to note the positions, to count the steps, to figure out who ate first and who last. In the end, it has been almost too easy; the bandits paid little heed now to Langtree's small troop and Silviana and Raistlin were good at hiding in the shadows. Only a few had managed to fit in their meal before the pots had been drugged with mandrake and the disparaging effects were obvious now. Out of all the smaller groups in the encampment, Langtree's mercenaries were the only ones to seem fully intact.

 

Loft must find it suspicious how none of us has been taken ill, Silviana found herself thinking. However, Raistlin had been a good judge of character. He had assured them that men like Terris, whose main drive was ambition, would always fall apart at the slightest hindrance to their plans and as such, would fail to notice the obvious.

“Aye! Two wizards should seal the deal! Assuredly! You men will all go out today and the two mages will spin some magic for us!”

Loft's desperation was obvious from his throwing caution to the wind and suggesting to have the mages accompany them, something he had never done before.

Caramon, Rudd, Scrounger and the others rose slowly. Raistlin made a show of struggling to his feet, clinging to the Staff of Magius. Halfway up, the young mage fell to his knees, sweat dripping from his brow and hoarsely vomited on the ground.

The rest of their small group drew away abruptly as Raistlin quaked with feigned fever. He was, after all, a performer and doling up some fake vomit was child's play. The rest of the mercenaries acted in accordance with the show and no one skipped a beat.

“Raistlin!” Silviana rushed forward to grasp his shoulder, feeling him even now recoil from her touch. “Raistlin, are you alright?”

“I am afraid,” the mage whispered in his low voice, “that I too have the sweating sickness.” He coughed, and some quite real blood dribbled down his chin.

Loft was growing angrier, his men becoming more agitated as a result.

“We could take the hobs and gobs...” someone in the assembled crowd suggested meekly.

“I will not do an ambush with them again!” Torf snarled, “they will serve their purpose when we reach the city and catapult their slimy asses over the walls of Hope's End.” He aimed a disgusted look at Raistlin. “You better not die until then you simpering wizard! The woman mage comes with us and so do the rest of you! NOW!”

With that the outlaw turned on his heel, sword in hand and motioned for all to follow him toward a hidden path out of the clearing. Caramon looked at Raistlin uncertainly, worry in his big, round eyes, not wanting to leave his brother, even knowing that Raistlin's illness was mostly feigned.

“Raist..” he started a weak protest knowing it was no good even before his twin's steady gaze commanded him to go. Biting his lip, Caramon turned and went after Terris. This was, after all, their best means of escape, if they failed to succeed they would be found out for sure and then likely put to death.

As Silviana followed suit warily, Raistlin caught her arm in his thin hand, his fingers clasping her wrists so tightly she nearly gasped.

“Do not fail,” she heard his barely audible whisper.

Gulping nervously, the elf-woman ran to keep up, her chin set and determined, long hair braided and trailing behind her.

Raistlin watched her go and told himself that he felt nothing. Nothing, as the beams of the rising sun hit her locks in a dazzle of refracting light; Nothing, as her faint smell of lilacs lingered on the air when she passed; Nothing, as the warmth of her hand faded from his gaunt shoulder. Nothing was and nothing will and nothing may again. 

Suddenly tired, the red-robe slumped back against the oak-tree which decomposed in his sight and closed his eyes against its skeletal limbs, wanting to feel only the sturdy life that was in this wooden giant. Sighing bitterly, Raistlin cast her retreating image out of his mind and waited. He would need to give them half an hour at most before proceeding with his end of the plan. Unbidden memories swam before his eyes as he began to count down the minutes till taking action...


	12. Plan in Action part 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raistlin is waiting for a signal from Silviana while grudgingly remembering his one sexual experience.

... _. There was something vaguely reminiscent of their mother about Cassandrine, the daughter of Solace's baker. Yet the resemblance stopped with the hair and the heart shaped face. Her warm curls framed a laughing face with gentle doe's eyes and she had a friendly smile for everyone, including Raistlin. Caramon and he took turns picking up loaves of bread every morning and sometimes the girl would throw a couple of sweetmeats in when the twins were low on coin. Raistlin often found himself looking forward to his turn to pick up the bread loaf, knowing that Cassandrine would make him feel for a little while like a normal youth._

_“Hey there Blue Eyes,” she'd wink and give him a broad smile, curls framing that heart shaped face. “Coming for the goods today?” She'd stand and walk away towards the ovens, enticingly swaying her heavy hips. Raistlin blushed, finding himself as always both attracted and repulsed. It was all so common... so vulgar. Her easy manner, her light teasing. And yet, somehow, in a world which mocked him, it felt good._

_He mumbled something as she handed him the wrapped bread loaf and he could feel its heat through the paper bag and the smell of it, fresh from the oven, associated with this warm haired woman with curls._   
_Cassandrine brushed his arm loosely as she handed back the change and laughed a little as he rushed off, feeling awkward as always around her. These morning visits were always a mixture of emotions for him. A part of him delighted in her treatment, whilst another quaked in disgust at being treated with such simple lasciviousness and, worst yet, at being so completely dumbfounded by it._   
_He knew what the other boys did about it, as it was an open secret that Cassandrine's easy smiles went hand in hand with her easy character. Her father being aged and partially deaf, the young woman often ran the bakery alone, a fact others in town took full advantage of._   
_Oh, Raistlin knew what they did when she smiled and teased like that, he heard them talk about it- Caramon included. He knew about the ways she liked to be had, up against the wall, full skirts tussled up roughly around her hips or bent over the counter, her hair tugged by a fist._

_Every morning that he went to get the bread, Raistlin asked himself if he would be man enough to do the same. After all, everyone else did. Did he measure up? By the time the brief encounter was over, however, he felt sickened by that thought and disturbed further by the glimpse of his own mother he saw in her hair and face. Perhaps it was the comfort that he sought, of a mother's embrace long gone that really drew him there, mingled with the confused urges of a young man unwittingly seeking release. Whatever it was, the ending was always anti-climactic._

_That morning would have been no different, except that, having been up all night studying, Raistlin had misjudged the time. It must have been a full hour earlier than his usual visits to the bakery and the tree-top town lay quietly and serenely among the browning leaves of autumn. Caught up in his musings, Raistlin gave the time no heed, needing to stretch his legs and think through the bit of magic he had just been struggling with. Thus perplexed, he wondered aimlessly towards the bakery._

_He should have paid more heed to what he did as he carelessly flung open the door of the little shop, with its permanent smell of baked bread surrounding it. As he entered, Raistlin caught his breath at the sight of Cassandrine, who, with her bare back to him was using the wash basin. The girl often slept in the main room of the shop, leaving her father the single room at the back of the bakery._

_Of course, she too would just be getting up! Raistlin thought quickly, embarrassed. He thought of running away instantly but it was too late. Cassandrine had heard the creak of the door._

_Why was it open this early, anyhow?_

_“Haha, Caramon!” Cassandrine said without turning, brushing back the curls and exposing a side of a heavy breast to view as her arm rose with the motion. “I thought you might come early today.” With that, she dropped a towel which was covering her lower half to the floor._

_Caramon? Ahh, it was his brother's day to come for the bread- he hadn't even remembered this whilst in his deep reverie. But Caramon was not even awake now.. he slumbered peacefully in the arms of the buxom Meria, and likely would not rise for some time yet. Oh, but his twin did get around evidently..._

_“You are sure quiet today,” Cassandrine was playfully irritated as she turned around and then gasped, realising she had the wrong brother. However, her surprise passed quickly, as she looked at him with non-disguised curiosity._

_“Well, this could be interesting,” she laughed a rich, full laugh and straightened her back, none abashed by her nudity._

_All resemblance to their mother was gone._

_Raistlin found himself transfixed by her lush figure, the hair between her thick thighs and the light brown nipples of her breasts. There was a glow from the ovens, which must have been heating up for the day's baking, and it cast an amber light on her, making her appear fiendish. The young man did not know what to do, did not know if he was attracted or repulsed; if he should leave or stay. A part of his physiology seemed to be responding, yet it was a distant, vague reaction which seemed separate from him altogether._

_“Might be fun, haha, to compare the twins,” Cassandrine moved forward to a table where later the baked bread loaves would be placed and sat on it, facing him, knees crossed. Leaning over a bit, she beckoned with a finger, smiling that easy smile._

_“You shy or what, boy? Or perhaps you don't like women?” She raised an eyebrow testily._

_Raistlin grew angry at her teases. Boy? How dare she speak to him like that!_

_He clenched his jaw and moved forward a step, drawing one hand through his loose, auburn hair. He had no idea what he was doing and was slightly concerned about Cassandrine's father in the back room, but it somehow didn't matter anymore. Caramon has had her, so why shouldn't he? Desire had nothing to do with this._

_And her mockery was the final straw._

_He caught her eyes with his and she stopped laughing, seeing something inexplicably cold and frightening in them as Raistlin began to walk toward her. Cassandrine stopped laughing and bit her pouting lip, drawing her knees slightly apart on the table. He did not look down at what she displayed, caring only about keeping her eyes captive._

_“No, not shy... just.. strange,” she murmured under her breath, catching one of her loose curls with a finger tip and wrapping it around playfully._

_“Yes, strange,” Raistlin repeated as he came close to her, putting his palms on either side of her and leaning forward. Their faces met slowly, her mouth opening for his with deliberate tentativeness, a playful lick of the tongue tracing his lips. He mimicked her gesture, deciding to learn as he went along and do in return what was being done to him._

_Her right hand traced the laces of his tunic as their mouths continued a slow dance of tongues and lips, pulling apart the haphazardly tightened leather cords until his chest was bare to her touch. After the cords were undone, she pushed the garment off his thin shoulders, making it fall around him at his feet. Raistlin shivered as a breath of air grazed his bare skin, at once cold with autumn and hot with the fire from the ovens. Cassandrine's left hand was on the small of his back, thumb caught underneath the waistline of his breeches. She pushed him toward her, legs spreading wide to bring him in. The hair at the top of her mound brushed against his pelvis, tickling him lightly._

_Raistlin felt the need to do something responsive with his own hands, more for the purpose of being adequate than anything else. Fighting back a sickening feeling in his stomach, he traced the fingers of his hands up the naked woman's sides several times. He did it first slowly and softly, then picked up the pace and increased pressure, noting the subtle differences in her reaction as he made her flesh more pliant to his touch. His last stroke, which was borderline bruising brought an elated squeal from the girl and ended with his fingers clasping hard on her nipples. Cassandrine bit his lip in response; Raistlin tugged even harder on her nipples, squeezing mercilessly._

_Cassandrine moved her head back, saying “not bad, not bad! You have a lot more imagination than him do you know that? Caramon doesn't go in for much build up, unfortunately.”_

_Raistlin grew angry and nearly pulled back, choosing instead to move one hand from her breast to her hair and, digging in, to bend her head back cruelly._

_“Do not speak of him,” he hissed with menace._

_“Why? Does it make you mad? Haha,” Cassandrine made the best of her position by leaning into Raistlin's arm and exposing her soft throat to him. “It's too bad most girls do not go in for strange, or they would find the strange twin a lot more fun!”_

_Fun? Fun? How was she finding this fun? Yet, Raistlin himself was oddly captivated by what was going on. He leant down to her throat, fastening his mouth around it, sucking in the skin then biting down. Cassandrine moaned lowly, and he moved his mouth down, almost as if he were being pulled toward her core. Her throat, the collarbones, both breasts... the same method, fasten; suck; bite. Sometimes softly, sometimes hard, her sounds varying in accordance. Somehow he found himself on his knees between her legs, looking at her mound, heaving and glistening in the amber light. For a second, he was unsure of what he was doing there. He'd never thought of doing any such thing, had only heard through the grapevine of the sort of things a man may do with this part of a woman's anatomy. A part of him still wanted to get up and leave until her earlier words came back to him..._

_“Might be fun, haha, to compare the twins!”_

_Well then, let her compare the twins! Stupid bitch._

_He grabbed at the soft spot at her centre viciously with his lips and teeth. Fasten; suck; bite. Cassandrine had to bite her own arm in order to stifle a scream. Raistlin started working his jaw in a tugging motion, pulling her wet flesh deep and hard into his mouth. She tasted both bitter and sweet, alluring and pungent. Like the rest of this experience, he did not know what to make of it, all he knew in this moment was that it was imperative that he be better than Caramon at this. He continued his sucking and biting, pulling and tugging to affirmative pants from the girl until, quite quickly and suddenly, her legs tightened on either side of him and he felt his face covered with a warm, sticky fluid gushing from inside her._

_Startled, Raistlin got up a little unsteadily and Cassandrine, laughing breathlessly caught him again about the waist, not letting him go. Feeling suddenly awkward, Raistlin felt the need to run away, however, he stayed rooted to the spot, not wanting to ruin the impression he had just made._

_“Yes, a lot more fun,” she said, holding him still and reaching her hand down into his breeches. “There seems to be a problem, though.” Raistlin was confused before he realised what she was talking about._

_All throughout this encounter, he had stayed entirely flaccid._

_“Do I not interest you after all?” Cassandrine pouted._

_“Perhaps you should just try harder,” Raistlin snarled._

_“Ohh, haha,” the girl laughed and suddenly, he could not even recall how, his trousers were around his ankles along with the previously discarded tunic. The bunch of clothes made an awkward bundle around his feet and Raistlin thought off hand that even if he tried to leave now he would probably fall over and trip, looking like a fool._

_Cassandrine was looking down, examining him fully naked for several long moments before reaching her plump fingers down in a slow, appreciative stroke._

_She looked him in the eye as she did so, a sly glint lighting up their depths._

_“I'll tell you a secret,” she leant in so that her lips were on par with his ear, hot breath tickling him. “You are bigger than him too.”_

_Raistlin felt himself stiffen like he never had before at her words, astonished by this bewildering feat of his body of which he was so unsure. Is this truly what set him on edge? Knowing he was the one who was better? But what did it matter, really? She was a harlot, who had many men for comparison. He was just one more. But it was Caramon that he wanted to be better than._

_Cassandrine was laughing._

_“I guess I didn't have to work so hard after all.”_

_Somehow he was inside her and she was splayed out underneath him on the table top, legs encircling his torso and driving him in. He pinned her down with his weight, wanting, in part, to crush the life out of her. She only pulled him in more, encouraging him to grind in deeper into her folds. He did so, noticing how his body strained with the effort, his muscles clenching and unclenching spasmodically. Raistlin seemed to be on a verge of something, there was a tension inside him that was waiting to explode and he wanted that release, wanted it badly. Yet, no matter how hard he thrust and how deep he went, it evaded him._

_Cassandrine, somehow, seemed aware of his struggle and after a time brought her hands up to catch his face, making him look at her again._

_“You are definitely better than him,” she whispered._

_A dam burst within Raistlin and he went over the edge, spilling himself inside her in an ongoing flood. The rush was silent and forceful and it kept coming over him in torrents until he could feel it spill out from inside her and cover his own thighs._

_He could not remember what happened afterwards, only that it was all a blur. The disengagement and the quick collecting of clothing. The rushed dressing on his part, as she slowly and leisurely put on her own gown. He felt a growing sense of disgust with himself at the thought of doing something just to prove that he was better than Caramon, as if hearing some whore say it should make a difference to him! HIM! He had to get out of there right there and then, he could not bear the reminder that now this woman knew his secret- knew that he felt inferior to Caramon and that it was his weakness. He stumbled as if in a dream under her laughing gaze, not even being able to say anything to her after their fervent coupling, needing to run away as fast as possible._

_Cassandrine, instinctively feeling his dilemma, said nothing as he fumbled around getting his things together. He looked at her once, wanting to say something as he reached for the door handle. Saving him the trouble, Cassandrine leant behind the counter and brought something out. It was a wrapped loaf of bread. She tossed it at him and Raistlin caught it intuitively._

_“It's yesterday's, but it'll have to do for you today as I haven't had time yet to bake more,” she said lightly, “Consider it well paid for.” She refrained from laughing but he could see it in her eyes._   
_He went out the door and rushed along the bridge connecting her valenwood to the rest of the town. He had barely gone a few steps when he ran straight into Caramon._

_“Raist, what the-” Caramon steadied his twin and caught his breath at the look of him. Raistlin's eyes were wide, the whites prominent. His auburn hair was wild and wet with sweat, just as his chest underneath a badly laced tunic which fell off one shoulder. All around them the buzz of Solace coming awake and going about business was in evidence._

_“I got the bread already, was out early, couldn't sleep,” Raistlin muttered defensively, hugging the loaf tightly against his body like a shield. Then he pushed his twin over and resumed his hurried jog towards their house._

_Caramon remained standing for a while on the lightly swaying bridge, ruffling his tawny head in thought. He looked over toward the baker's hut and back to his quickly retreating brother. He then slowly followed behind his twin, noting not to ask Raistlin any questions._

_Raistlin did not eat the bread that day, nor could he ever afterwards._

 

Raistlin opened his eyes and smirked sardonically at the memory. It had been a while since he had let it come back to him in full like that, in all its coloured detail. There it was then, his one time. His one moment of weakness- for that is why he forced himself to recall it now. To remind himself that passion was unhindering. By bedding that strumpet he had let her see his inner turmoil, his latent sense of inferiority to his brother, his desire to prove himself. He heard the words he needed to hear then- you are better than him- and it was enough to prove a point, but it availed nothing. Things were different now, he doubted he could do what he performed back then in the bakery. Doubted even that his body would comply to the feat, even when Silviana threatened to awaken that passion. He had practised restraint for too long. Anyhow, it was the magic and the power which he sought now to possess, and he had no need to best his brother in bed play.  
Raistlin noted the position of the sun and started from his reflection. It had been more than a half hour for certain and still no signal from the elf-woman. Had something gone amiss? If Loft's anger and desperation had run out and he let his logic see the obvious they would all be doomed. The men might be sick now but the effects would wear off by noon and if Rudd's twenty men and Silviana failed to overcome Loft's people they would all be in serious trouble. The numbers were pretty even now with the majority of the bandits currently indisposed, yet still, there was a chance that they would fail if things were not timed properly...  
A bright flare went off in the western direction, a red streak crossing the sky and fading just as abruptly- a signal just for his eyes. Raistlin released a breath he didn't know he was holding and got to his feet quickly. All around him, Loft's men were getting over their spell of sickness, no longer vomiting, but still weak. The secondary effects of the mandrake would be hitting them by now, nausea replaced by a muscular atrophy. Now would be the perfect time. The mage slid through the trees towards the encampment where Torf and his goblins waited, fully armed. Upon seeing Raistlin, the hobgoblin commander gave a curt nod in his general direction.  
“It is safe to proceed?” Torf barked, impatience screwing up his hideous maw.  
“Loft's men are no longer a hindrance to you,” Raistlin remembered to bow slightly, imitating due reverence for the purpose of seeming less suspicious. Hobgoblins could never get enough of ass kissing.

Torf took his double axe in hand and motioned to his troop to head off. The hobs and gobs, shrieked in long denied relief as they stormed Loft's encampment. The sick men were taken off guard, the mandrake making it impossible to get to their feet on time and grab their weapons when they saw the incoming wave of the enemy. Raistlin was on their heels yet staying to the side, wanting to escape the battle and make his way to Loft's tent undetected while the hobs and gobs massacred the incapacitated troops. If what Torf had told him last night about Caine Blacksworth's presence there was true then there was one item in Loft's possession which Raistlin would risk getting his hands on.  
All around him, slaughter ensued. Torf's men, deceived into thinking the humans would betray them, swung their weapons mercilessly. Screams and shouting rose as dismembered limbs flew haphazardly into the air.  
“Betrayers!”  
“Die filthy human scum!”  
“To arms, to arms!”  
To one side Brendaun had managed to get up and rounded a group of hardy men around him. They stood back to back as hobs and gobs encircled them all around. Torf broke through the melee surrounding the bandits laughing maniacally.  
“Ready to resume last night's interrupted fight, Brendaun?”  
“I should have sent you to the Abyss then and there you- you..” Brendaun was in a rage.  
“Spare your words man and prepare to die!”  
A double axe swung viciously and a sword came up to meet it with a loud bang. Other hobs and gobs going insane with the blood frenzy lost their weapons and tore at their opponents with their teeth, going for throats and faces. Pained death howls prevailed in the atmosphere.  
Raistlin was surrounded by a red haze, yet no one paid attention to the wizard. Sticking to the trees and avoiding chance passers-by, the young man glided with insane speed towards the towering tent at the other end of the encampment, his robes catching on the occasional tree root and disemboweled corpse. He knew it was stupid of him not to run away now while no one paid him heed, as was, in fact, the plan all along. He intended to stay behind only to make sure that Torf kept his end of the deal, meaning to slip away in the commotion afterwards and meet up with Langtree's men back on the road. If all went well they should be able to gain Hope's End and sanctuary before the hobs and gobs realized there was no treasure hidden in Loft's tent.  
Yet now there was something else that Raistlin needed to obtain before leaving.  
Quite suddenly he found himself outside the tent and without stopping to think ran inside. What he saw in there made the young mage stop in his tracks.  
Standing in the middle of the tent floor, holding a cylindrical case, stood the dark figure of Caine Blacksworth, long blond moustaches trailing from beneath his black hood.  
“Greetings friend,” the Solamnic wizard smiled nastily. He held up the hand with the case, “did buffoon commander Torf inform you of this little item?”  
Raistlin clenched his teeth... to have been so careless as to forget about the black-robe! Surely, he would have come back for his possession, and what better timing than when the two factions of the camp were fighting amongst themselves.  
Outside, the sounds of raging battle continued.  
“It seems it is time to resume our little chat, red-robe,” Blacksworth intoned, “with your pretty elf friend now far too distracted to be of any assistance.”  
Not wishing to give his opponent the head start, Raistlin grasped the Staff of Magius and began to chant...


	13. Attacks and Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up with some melee fighting and magical blasts.

Silviana was sweating profusely under her cloak despite the late autumn chill. The morning was a bright one, with the sun swiftly rising and making the leaf strewn forest appear unbearably lucid. Or perhaps it was her over heightened imagination which made every little detail stand out vividly to her eyes. She still could not believe their luck, that everything should go off without a hitch like that. Perhaps there was something they had overlooked, something that she should be painfully aware of. Raistlin too worried her. She knew that of necessity all the information that was passed among their small group was brief as to avoid the revelation of their plan to their captors, yet Silviana got the distinct impression that there was more that the young mage was holding back from them all.

 _So be it_ , she thought. Now was not the time to contemplate what it might be. They were getting close to the usual place of ambush now, or so she gathered, as Loft had been slowing down his pace for some time and eventually came to a halt, motioning for them all to come together. For a split second Silviana caught Caramon's eye, but the big warrior broke off his gaze quickly in an effort to remained composed. Yet even the brief moment was enough for the elf-woman to recognize her own inner panic. Was it then so easy to spot? Could Terris look right through them?

By this time the outlaw leader had calmed down, his frantic anger at finding his regular crew indisposed fading to a mild annoyance. The normal sharp and speculative glint was once more in his squinting eyes. His own fifty men gathered around him, their hands on their weapons, awaiting instruction. A barely distinguished nod from Rudd had the Langtree group hanging back slightly, the men spreading out slowly to form a semi-circle around Terris and his men. The bandit leader would talk first, assigning position and discussing strategy. His regular cronies suffering from the mandrake induced illness forced Terris to re-construct his plan on the spot. Yet before places can be taken up alongside the road, Langtree's men would launch their own attack. The timing would have to be precise and Terris Loft had to be disposed of first, thus sabotaging the outlaws' chances of regrouping. Even with the majority of the bandits suffering the effects of the poisoned soup, Loft's men still outnumbered Langtree's two to one, which meant that the execution of the plan had to be precise in order for them to have the best chance of success.

It was up to Silviana to ensure that everything went according to plan. As Terris cleared his throat she slipped her fist inside the deep pocket of her cloak, her fingers deftly untangling a thorny plant from a jumble of roots and herbs contained within the pouch of her spell components.

“I realize that today has started off with an inconvenience,” Loft began, “however, that is no reason to let bounty slip from our fingers.”

A mild cheer went up from the surrounding crowd.

“Most of you have participated in ambush by this point, and for those who have not you will realize that it is a job that an idiot can do,” the outlaw ran a hand through his silver hair and laughed coarsely. “You hide and you stay quiet. When the caravan reaches the underside of the hillock and the last horses have passed the split beech tree on the right of the road you spring the attack.”

Silviana pulled her hand with the thorny vine from her pocket, rolling the plant up and down her palm, the words of the incantation ready upon her lips. The sun traveled upwards- it was nearly noon.  
“If you look to your right and left,” Loft continued, gesturing, “you will note green ties on the trees marking spots that are prime for concealment. Slight ditches have been delved there and an abundance of natural brush placed in such a fashion that would make seeing hidden men from the road impossible.”

“I want you to split off into groups of four per location. We do not have long to wait so for those of you who have not been out yet, you will have to learn on the spot. I will organize the groups myself to ensure each is under strong leadership.” At this the outlaw leader began to motion to individual men and call out names.

Silviana, having remained apart from the main group, kept a close watch on Rudd. The older man's hand slipped over the pommel of his sword and adjusted his belt scabbard with a grunt. This was her sign- the time to act was now.

“ _Macante trissiulus trante mabinogus_ ,” Silviana chanted quietly under her breath, extending her arm at shoulder level and pointing it at the speaking outlaw.

“Lorry, Brand- you team up and Cara-” a whistling sound split the air and a whip like vine cut off Loft's words. The plant in Silviana's hand had transformed into a thick cable, speckled with large, piercing thorns which sprung from her arm at command and flew out to wrap itself around Loft's throat. The vine- turned- noose dug into the outlaw's throat and, with a yank from Silviana's arm, brought the man to his knees. Loft's eyes bulged as he struggled to clutch at the deadly plant whose thorns latched firmly unto his flesh, fingers attempting to pry loose the trap and slipping in the free flow of blood pouring from his mangled throat.

No sooner had Silviana let her thorn whip fly then Rudd, Caramon and the others of Langtree's party unsheathed their weapons, unleashing a rain of sharp, steel blows upon their unsuspecting enemies. Shouts went up among the surprised men as the outlaws realized what had happened and more swords and daggers flew free to meet the onslaught of the rebellious men. For many it was already too late for defense, their corpses going rigid among the blood- soaked tree roots, blind eyes staring questioningly into the equally blind ether. The rest were now in a frenzy to save their lives as the vehement blades of Langtree's men fell upon them with Caramon and Rudd leading the bloody charge.

Silviana felt a nauseous sensation creep upon her as she could sense the death throes of Terris Loft on the other end of her thorn whip. Raistlin had taught her this spell during their long weeks at camp yet it was the first time she had seen it in action rather than written inside the pages of his spell book. And it was the first time she herself was in control of another life, a life that was quickly fleeting away. I am a Healer! I should not aim to kill, not even him! A wild sob escaped her lips and Silviana pulled back the plant cable, letting go of the weapon before it ended the outlaw's life. The thorny noose around Terris' neck disappeared as Silviana broke the link with the plant and the man tumbled on the ground unconscious, mangled yet breathing.

The elf-woman fell to her knees as the fighting raged beside her, people falling victim to knife and sword. Her left arm rose above her shoulders finding and hooking an arrow into her short bow. Taking aim, Silviana released the arrow, turning it as it flew into a fiery red flare that ripped apart the blue late-morning sky- a signal for Raistlin to act.

Having done so Silviana collapsed bodily unto her knees, fighting to hold back tears. The men encircling the remaining bandit force held them successfully at bay and no one had the time and inclination to pay attention to the elf-woman. Her hands clenched on her lap, she began to shake. Horkin was right, she thought, I am no battle mage...

“Silviana! Sil-vi-ana!” Someone was adamantly shaking her shoulder, pulling her out of the abyss into which she began to spiral. Looking over to her left Silviana gazed upon the frantic Scrounger, his eyes alert with concern. The half-kender too jumped away from the bulk of the fighting as soon as he was able to do so, being oftentimes more of a hindrance than help. However, as has been previously agreed, he too would play his own role in this particular undertaking.

“Are you alright? We need to go and fetch Raistlin,” the young man spoke rapidly, all the while still shaking Silviana's shoulder.

What am I doing? I can't fall apart just yet- he still needs me!

“Yes, yes I know, I-”

Scrounger's weight suddenly plummeted into her and Silviana was pushed onto the ground as a giant ax spiraled past and embedded itself into a tree where Silviana's head had been mere seconds ago. The half-kender rolled off the elven girl, plucking a small dagger from his belt while Silviana agilely found her feet. A giant of a man stood in front of them, yanking the ax free of the tree with one arm and grinning menacingly. Stepen -or was it Troth?- advanced upon the two while around them Loft's men began to break through the tight circle of the Langtree mercenaries.

“I knew you lot couldn't be trusted!” the large man spat on the ground and swung the ax once more. He did not however anticipate the quickness of his adversaries. Scrounger's dagger shot out, hitting the outlaw in the forearm and sticking there, making the man involuntarily release his hold on the wicked ax. Simultaneously, Silviana had instinctively shot out her own arm calling for lightning, feeling the electric buzz around her fingertips as the bolt was unleashed. Flying at the speed of light, the magic weapon collided with the man's breast and he was at once engulfed in a silver flame. Letting her hand fall to her side, Silviana let out a shocked gasp. She hadn't meant for a killing blow, she'd only been trying to protect herself and her friend...

“Silviana!” Scrounger was tugging at her sleeve impatiently. “Silviana we have to GO! We have to go back for Raistlin!”

Silviana shook her head, pushing aside her conflicting morals for the time being. Grasping the little half-kender by the hand, the elf-woman turned and began to run back up the trail. If all went well back at the encampment, Raistlin was to meet them back at the small clearing where they had gathered herbs while Caramon and Rudd would lead the rest of the men up the main road towards Hope's End where they would eventually reconvene. With the goblins being riled up in a frenzy it made little sense for the mercenaries to return to the encampment so it was up to Silviana and Scrounger to go back for Raistlin. The elf-woman hoped against hope that the young mage was safe. It was a risky business for him to remain alone among the slaughtering gobs and hobs and if they found out that Loft's tent did not hold the promised treasure before Raistlin had a chance to get away his life was forfeit. Yet, the red-robe had insisted on staying back, both as a decoy to prevent Loft from getting suspicious and – as Silviana suspected- for alternate reasons of his own.

Whatever those might be, it did not matter now, the elf-woman told herself as her and Scrounger raced up the path, the clashes and shouts of fighting men quickly fading behind them. She just hoped he was still alive. It seemed like mere seconds before they reached the small clearing, although the exerted state of their bodies spoke of long minutes running at full speed. Silviana and Scrounger leaned heavily against a solid oak, panting and looking around to see if anyone followed. The only sounds in the clearing remained those of the forest animals serenely going about their business. Silviana looked up to the sky, squinting her slanted eyes to make out the shape of the sun behind the canopy of dying leaves.

“Just past noon,” she whispered breathlessly.

“We are early,” Scrounger nodded beside her. “Which is for the best.”

“Yes, it all happened so quickly- and all those men dead,” Silviana found her eyes tearing up despite herself.

The half-kender squeezed her shoulder gently.

“They were not good people, Silvi. Not good people at all,” Scrounger said reassuringly. “I know how you feel- this is no honest combat. Heck none of this is honest in the least! The whole plan with the soup and the goblins attacking while the men are sick? But then what other choice did we have? Attempt to capture a city with an outlaw force of three hundred?”

Silviana laughed sadly.

“Oh I know, I know how it is. But I am Elven and a healer and thus mourn death- even of those that might have rightfully deserved it. Yet it does comfort me to know that it was not for nothing and that we are free now- or at least most of us.”

“I am sure Raistlin will be fine, Silvi. I have seen him come out against bad odds time and time again. He is a trickster that mage,” Scrounger said this with some unpleasantness in his voice.

The two fell into silence then, straightening up against the oak and keeping guard, ears alert for sign of either friend or foe.

A half hour passed before a rustling of hurried footsteps came up the trail behind them.

Wrong direction, Silviana thought. Raistlin should have been coming from up ahead... and he would not have made such clanking noise.

Seconds later Caramon rushed into the clearing, blood and sweat matted into his curly hair.

“Raist?” was the first word out of his mouth, his eyes searching the clearing and coming to rest upon Silviana's face.

“Not here yet... it's been a half hour since we got here. How is everyone else?”

“In a good stroke of luck the oncoming caravan turned out to have a well trained guard force. They heard the sounds of battle from ahead and came to our aid. The men are convalescing now before beginning the rest of the journey toward the city.”

“Hopefully they have no run- ins with any of the goblins...” Scrounger began.

“Doubtful. Hobs and gobs care about treasure and it takes a lot to make them go willingly into a fight unless the odds are stacked in their favor from the start,” Caramon reassured him. “Unless of course they realize the trick Raistlin has played on them and will wish to find whoever is responsible.” The big warrior added the last in a panicked tone.

“Car- he isn't here yet,” Silviana felt herself turn frantic. “It should not have taken this long, whatever he was about back at camp. Something is not right.”

Caramon looked blatantly worried now.

“You are right,” he said just as a loud explosion sounded from the direction of the outlaw encampment. The sound was accompanied by an ethereal force that sent shock waves through the ground, it's strength so powerful that it bent the surrounding trees back like dominoes. The three in the clearing were momentarily lifted off their feet and sent flying backwards several feet, coming to land hard unto the ground along with several surprised and terrified forest animals.

Climbering back unto his feet, Scrounger exclaimed:

“What in the Abyss was that?”

“Magic,” Silviana answered, feeling its aftermath boil through her veins. “Really strong magic.”

Without another word the elf-woman herself was on her feet and running back toward the camp. She could hear the two men calling for her to slow down and wait but she had no time to wait for them. She had to reach Raistlin.

  
***

  
The sudden surge of power was incredibly strong. Beneath his fingers, Raistlin could feel the wood of the Staff become warm with magic which pulsed through it like blood through a limb. A profound exhilaration flooded the young mage as he and the Staff became one, merged by the charged circuit of magic. He was the source and it was the conduit, both ready to erupt in a wave of devastating energy. The orb in its dragon claw which adorned the Staff of Magius glowed a bright, toxic red. With a shock, Raistlin realized that he himself was radiating the same light, making his golden skin appear a deep amber.  
The strange part about it all was that he did not know how he was doing it. Upon seeing his adversary, Caine Blacksworth, Raistlin reacted instantly, words of magic coming to his lips unbidden.  
In the back of his mind, overrun with adrenaline, a voice had emerged- one he felt that he has heard already but could not quite pinpoint. The voice was assuring and commanding at the same time.

 

_Let me help you, friend. Repeat my words._

  
The words were ancient, in a magic language he did not recognize, yet they flowed through Raistlin’s lips fluently and gracefully, releasing the flow of energy which traveled from the Staff of Magius and engulfed both Staff and mage. Raistlin felt it bubbling impatiently within him, waiting to be unleashed.  
A panicked look crossed Blacksworth’s face – the black-robe had not expected his opponent to be so quick to defend himself. The Solamnic wizard could feel the awesome reservoir of power that Raistlin had tapped and which was now flowing inside the younger mage. Trying to break the other’s concentration, Blacksworth hurriedly threw forward his right arm and sent bolts of radiant violet rays blasting towards Raistlin.  
He was too late.  
The voice inside Raistlin laughed hoarsely and maniacally and a grin spread upon his face. Blacksworth’s bolts hit the younger wizard full force and disappeared, being absorbed by his golden skin.  
“Nice try,” Raistlin sneered and brought the bottom of the Staff slamming into the ground. At that gesture, the black-robe’s violet bolts shot forth from inside the Staff’s orb, reinforced and made stronger by the red-robe’s own power. Raistlin sent the wizard’s own spell back at him, magnified immensely by the magic he had called upon.  
Caine Blacksworth had only moments to drop to the ground and roll bodily out of the way to avoid being hit by the violent missiles. The magic bolts hit the tapestry of the Terris Loft’s tent, setting it instantly on fire. The black-robe caught the whiff of burnt hair and knew that it was his own. Impressed and slightly afraid, the Solamnic mage jumped to a crouch his hands moving in quick gestures to throw up a magic shield around himself. The cylindrical case he held earlier dropped forgotten out of his grip and rolled on the ground to lie between himself and Raistlin. Around them the tent was caught in a furious flame and thick black smoke enveloped the two opponents. Blacksworth coughed, knowing that he would not last long without air and noting at the same time that his opponent seemed virtually unfazed.  
Who WAS this strange young man that wielded such immense, raw power?  
It was Raistlin’s turn to attack. The young mage thrust the Staff of Magius in the air and screamed a command word that the black-robe did not recognize. A wave of red flame rolled away from Raistlin, engulfing everything in its path. It collided with Blacksworth’s shield, but instead of being entirely repelled by its magic, it pressed down upon the older wizard’s defense, enclosing him in a tight, glowing red bubble. The pressure on the shield intensified, as if the magic fire was a sentient creature seeking to infiltrate the barricade through sheer force alone. The black-robe was running out of air and time and had to act quickly so as not to be incinerated on the spot.  
Gathering all his strength together, Caine Blacksworth launched himself in the air, his shield lasting just long enough for the mage to fly through and above the fiery wall surrounding him. The black-robe sailed fifteen feet in the air and levitated above his enemy, making sure that the younger mage did not see his rattled condition, nor that he was desperately trying to fill his lungs with much needed air. Raistlin smiled up at him from below, one thin golden hand clasped around the black cylinder Caine had dropped.  
“I think you dropped something, Blacksworth!” Raistlin mocked incessantly.  
The black-robe sneered down on him from his position in the air, the flames of the raging fire reflected in his squinting eyes. Around them squealing sounds of goblins were carried on the wind as the flames set to the tent spread over the encampment and those that still remained alive fled away as fast as their legs could carry them.  
“This is not over, Majere!” Blacksworth slid a dagger loose from his belt, whispering a quick spell over the blade and making sure to keep it out of Raistlin’s sight till the last moment. “Just remember that you are not impervious to steel!” With that the enchanted blade was cast towards the younger wizard, coming towards him in a straight path, aimed to strike a direct target. Surprised, Raistlin raised his arm instinctively to block, not prepared for an assault with a weapon. Up above Blacksworth disappeared into thin air with a flourish of his black cloak, not waiting to see if his attack had landed.  
The wizard’s dagger caught Raistlin in the shoulder, embedding itself to the hilt. With a scream, Raistlin dropped to his knees, releasing the Staff of Magius as he went and relinquishing the link between them. His inner fire, the fire of the Staff, went out in the blink of an eye and the young man was left to cough violently as fire crackled around him. He was seeing red and black, his vision obscured by flame and smoke that ravaged his lungs which were no longer protected by magic. He tasted blood on his lips as he collapsed bodily unto the ground. His left arm was useless and he was losing consciousness fast- there was almost nothing to it but to die…

  
_You can’t die- not yet!_

  
It was the voice again, quiet and commanding and angry. Again it was whispering words only Raistlin could hear, telling him to listen and repeat. In a coarse whisper Raistlin spoke the incantation that the voice recited. The fire that was about to burn him froze in its tracks; the flames that devoured the trees and ground all around him stood still and motionless.  
Even on the verge of unconsciousness, Raistlin was awestruck.  
He had actually managed to stop time!

  
_Yes, yes you have- but it shall not last long so get out of here before it is too late!_ The voice spurred him on urgently.

  
Raistlin thrust Blacksworth’s cylinder in his robes and with the last of his strength used his good arm to grasp the Staff. He could not rise to his feet so he launched himself over the edge of the frozen flame from a kneeling position and rolled when he hit the ground. Luckily he was on an incline, so his body gained momentum as he fell down the hill, feeling rocks, roots and branches stab at him all the while. Somewhere behind him the time spell dropped and the crackling of the flame resumed. Raistlin reached the end of the drop and lay sprawled on the ground, trying to will himself to move further away before the fire spread.  
But Raistlin knew his attempts were useless. Something was broken, possibly his sternum and the knife wound in his shoulder was bleeding profusely, the dagger itself becoming dislodged on his way down.  
“This is it then,” he murmured to himself and closed his golden eyes, suddenly not caring about living or dying. He smirked to himself, dried blood cracking on his lips.  
Everything was becoming hazy.  
Suddenly, he heard voices shouting nearby, voices he knew.  
“He’s over there, Caramon, look!”  
“Raist! Raist! Oh damnittt-”  
“Hurry! Hurry – we must run before this blaze fries all of us on the spot!”  
A pair of strong and familiar arms came about him and Raistlin was raised up in the air.  
“Is he dead?”  
“No, still breathing but we have to get out of here now! Run!”  
Raistlin head slumped against Caramon’s shoulder as his brother lunged into a run and the mage lost consciousness.


End file.
